Home for the Holidays
by Child of Loki
Summary: Agent Meredith Brody is not looking forward to spending Christmas with her parents. Chris LaSalle is facing a lonely holiday. Can the solution really be that easy? Brody/LaSalle (Disgustingly fluffy Holiday-themed fic. Yes, I'm ashamed of myself for writing this.)
1. Fruitcake

**Disclaimer: I don't **_**NCIS: New Orleans **_**or its characters…**

**Author's Note: I've honestly avoided Holiday-themed fics like the frickin' plague throughout my 'fanfiction career' (I like that… it makes it sound like less a waste of time). But Brody and LaSalle just challenge my imagination in all sorts of ways… So, frig it! Some cheesy, Christmas Brody/Lasalle…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Fruitcake<strong>

"So..." Chris LaSalle drawled as he leaned against her desk, making her look up from her paperwork to his smiling face. "How does Merri _merry_?"

She gave him one of her 'you're so weird and I just don't get you' looks, even though she knew precisely what he was asking her.

"Whatchya doin' for Christmas, Brody?"

"Visiting my parents," she said, unwilling to expound any further on a topic she didn't even like considering herself, let alone sharing. "What about you?"

"Probably volunteering at the children's hospital." His smile never wavered, but it no longer lit his eyes.

"Not goin' home to 'bama?" She teasingly imitated his accent, which earned her a genuine LaSalle chuckle, albeit a brief one.

"Nah," he said, surprising her with uncharacteristic brevity. Something was off with her partner. He loved his home state, still spoke with a drawl thicker than molasses, and the way he reacted when a case called for them to make a road trip to Alabama, all nostalgia bordering on homesickness... Merri couldn't imagine his not wanting to return for the sappiest time of the year, the Holidays. Personally, she was a bit of a grinch, because Christmas meant several days straight spent with her parents, filled with criticism, cold shoulders and outright arguing. But LaSalle was a jolly soul if ever she'd met one.

"Do you mind me asking why you aren't going home?"

"My home's here," he said. "Has been since I first stepped foot in New Orleans."

Meredith nodded, feeling uncomfortable about pushing the subject and unwilling to do so any further. If she hadn't been an idiot and immediately reacted to seeing her normally ebullient partner downcast, she would've remembered that he referred to their little NCIS team as 'family.' She should've recognized the implications of that sentiment, that it was more than just a pronouncement of 'team spirit'. She wondered whether he had any close blood relatives.

"Well," she said, suddenly feeling profoundly sad and a little selfish for complaining about a family that wasn't perfect. At least, she _had_ one. "If you feel like having a White Christmas, you can take my place at my parents'."

He grinned, seeming slightly more his irrepressible self. "Thanks, Brody. I'll be alright."

Agent Pride walked out of the kitchen, carrying a platter.

"I dare you not to like this," he announced, referring to Meredith's early display of outright disgust over the concept of fruitcake. She dubiously examined a piece under the older man's scrutiny, sniffing it and giving him a surprised look. It smelled like a tumbler filled to the brim with liquor, not on the rocks. Pride was giving her a half encouraging, half admonishing look, so she turned to LaSalle, who raised an eyebrow at her. No help there. She took a bite.

Wowza! It was like taking more than a little sip of bourbon, but after the initial burn, the surprisingly moist cake melted on her tongue, and then the sweet fruits provided another, less intense burst of alcoholic burn as she chewed. And she promptly forgot her partner's troubles as her gastronomic interest was piqued.

Good lord, the confection was delectable, and she began to stuff her face without reservation. The perpetual guilt expertly instilled by her mother flared stronger than it usually did when she 'over-indulged', likely due to the impending trip home. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. And one who'd spent nearly half her life _not_ living under her parents' roof (if she counted boarding school, it was far more than half). Her mother couldn't give her frown of disapproval, let alone point out the size of Merri's hips, because the woman would never even know...

She took another piece of cake and shoved it in her mouth solely on principle. Too late, she realized she could barely chew the sizeable morsel. When she looked around self-consciously as she struggled to masticate the cake pinning her tongue down and simultaneously sticking to the roof of her mouth, Meredith discovered that her coworkers were staring at her.

"Hmph?" she said, meaning 'what?'

LaSalle, his eyes wide, blinked first and turned to the senior agent, thankfully sparing Merri the humiliation of attempting to speak further and dribble have-eaten cake out of her mouth, by casually saying, "Brody's off to Michigan. So looks like it's just gonna be you 'n me, King."

Agent Pride looked uncharacteristically nervous, rubbing the side of his neck with a hand.

"Well, truth is I'm taking a flight out tomorrow for some skiing in the Adirondacks. Laurel's idea of a little father-daughter bonding time. I'm sorry, Chris. I much rather have a quiet Christmas at home, but I haven't gotten to spend all that much time with Laurel since she's gone off to college and she's very excited about the trip."

"No problem, King." It was a classic LaSalle smile, but Merri couldn't help but ascribe some sadness to the set of the younger man's shoulders. "You know me. If I can't find a party somewhere, I make one."

Merri could very well believe that. She swallowed some of the cake until she could chew more freely, but still didn't feel confident enough to speak. Not that she knew what to say at any rate, how to cheer up the man who would be depressingly alone on Christmas, without being so awkwardly obvious about it...

And then her phone rang. _Shit! _She pulled her cell out of her pocket, trying to chew faster, but to no avail.

And, of course, it was her mother... it was as if the woman knew her only daughter was making a spectacle of herself by cramming her maw full of booze-soaked cake. She struggled hopelessly to finish chewing and swallow the dessert that had started to make her head buzz and her cheeks flush.

She couldn't _not_ answer it. She would _never_ hear the end of it. Not when she was supposed to be receiving last minute Christmas Schedule updates before heading north the following day. Normally, the woman was good about it when Merri failed to answer calls, knowing her federal agent daughter worked random hours. But not when it concerned 'Christmas.' The only acceptable excuse for ignoring the call would be if Merri was in a coma.

Panic. She had a history of failing under pressure, one she battled daily, and she could (even without the assistance of a psychiatrist) identify the source as one control-freak mother.

LaSalle gave her a curious expression when she looked up from the screen of her phone, doubtless with the most terrified expression he'd ever seen on her face (or anyone else's, for that matter). And perhaps her brain had shut down, or it was out of the primal instinct to flee when in danger, but she pressed the 'accept call' option and thrust the phone out at him with a pleading look as she tried to swallow the last bit of cake, which was far too large and stuck painfully to her esophagus, making her freeze then cough.

The agent took it, giving her an alarmed look as he raised it to his ear.

"Uh... Hello?" he said.

"Christopher LaSalle, ma'am."

"No. I work with her."

He winked at Merri, who had taken a long drink of water in an attempt to force the stubborn bite of fruitcake down. Figures that _he _could handle her mother. Pride shrugged and smiled at her over their teammate's smoothness, somewhat sympathetically, she thought.

"She's fine. Just in the middle of tryin' some of our boss' delectable fruitcake. Must've raised her with proper manners. She didn't want to talk with her mouth full."

Meredith, mortified over being discussed by her mother and her yet new partner (despite his and Pride's very friendly natures, she still didn't feel quite settled in), grabbed for the phone, causing LaSalle to quickly turn his back and Pride to laugh as she tried to get the device back without causing an audible scene.

"You're most welcome, Mrs. Brody." LaSalle continued the conversation with her mother. "She's a fine woman."

She gave up, then felt a bit smug as the Southern boy's charm seemed to fail, and her mother obviously took over the conversation, which was filled with long pauses and truncated sentences on his side. Merri shortly felt sorry for him, however, and then uneasy as the conversation persisted for several bizarre minutes, and then he ended the call before handing over the phone.

She gave him a inquisitive look.

"Your mama said she was late to tea with a..."

"Mrs. Partridge." Merri sighed. "What were her instructions?"

"_Instructions_?" Pride asked, bemusedly. Underneath, he appeared to be enjoying this whole scene.

"My mother _plans_," she said. "It's the end of the world if things don't go _according to plan_, which explains why I'm such a disappointment to her."

The two men frowned at her.

"So, when do I get my itinerary?" she asked LaSalle.

"She said she'd email you later, that she had to make a few adjustments."

If Merri knew her partner at all, which she thought she did, she would've guessed he'd be amused by her quirky mother. But she had yet to see his patented smile.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I think I might have gotten you into some hot water," he said, shifting his weight slightly, like a nervous child.

"How bad is it?" Merri braced herself for the worst, but what he said next she could never have prepared herself for.

"It's possible that she's expectin' me to come along with ya." He shifted his stance back onto the other leg. "How bad is it gonna be if I don't show?"

Merri winced.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm opening up the floor on this one (although there are a few points I'm planning on hitting)…Any tropes you'd like to see in this fic? Accidental Mistletoe Kiss? Cuddling by the fire? Playing in the snow?**


	2. Mistletoe

**Author's Note: Got a little bit of writing done over internet-free Thanksgiving week… so hopefully updates will be frequent. Want to say THANKS! For all the feedback, and some great ideas (that I'm hoping I can work some in a bit… especially since I discovered that I'm not sure exactly how this fic is going to end yet).**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Mistletoe<strong>

"Oh! You two are standing under the mistletoe."

The woman with dark brown hair shot through with grey greeted Meredith Brody and her partner as soon as they entered the large, Victorian-era house.

"Mom," Merri said. "We just walked through the door. We've been traveling for seven hours straight. I haven't even introduced you to LaSalle. And he is my _coworker_, not my boyfriend."

"Well, excuse me for having Christmas spirit," Evelyn Brody said, then added in a conspiratorial tone to LaSalle, "She can be a bit of a Grinch, if you haven't noticed."

"But I ain't, ma'am," he said, taking Merri by surprise as he leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. She felt her face turn pink in an unwarranted blush, and avoided the loaded look her mother attempted to give her, instead shaking off the whole awkward moment. One down. Only about a thousand more humiliations to endure...

"Mom, this is Chris LaSalle. LaSalle, this is my mother, Evelyn."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brody." The Southern boy put on his well-mannered charm (not that he ever seemed to turn it off), giving her one of his gorgeous smiles and offering his hand.

Her mother ignored his hand and pulled him into a hug, giving Merri the 'isn't he a cutie' look over her partner's shoulder. As if the younger woman were unaware and needed her mother to point out the fact, or play matchmaker. Which she most definitely _did not_.

"Where's dad?" Merri asked, seeing that her father was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, he had to go straighten out a burst pipe situation at Birch Lane." The expression on the woman's expression was one of affable tolerance, but Merri knew it was her mother's 'company face' and that the control freak in her was furious. "Maybe he'll be home in time for dinner. But who knows... Those tenants... Can't say they'll be missed."

A little bit of her mother's real personality showed through, and honestly, Merri felt a bit relieved. She hadn't meant to do it, but the more anxiety she felt as they approached her childhood home, the more she had opened up to her partner, and the more she'd _bitched_ about her screwed up family. And that was a problem. She generally kept it all bottled up, refusing to mix her personal and professional lives, because as soon as she slipped a little, she found herself sliding down a steep embankment, out of control, spilling everything, drowning in it. But it had been so difficult, her promise to herself to no longer allow her life to become _messy_, when she'd found herself in Dwayne Pride and Chris LaSalle's world. They were friends. They were family. And they wanted her to be as well...

LaSalle broke the awkward moment by presenting Mrs. Brody with the bottle of wine he'd picked up when Merri had made the liquor store stop in Grand Rapids, stocking herself with enough alcohol to 'survive' through the weekend.

"You didn't have to bring anything," the older woman said, smiling warmly.

"I was taught never to show up empty-handed to a party."

"Well, your mother deserves credit for raising such a fine young man."

Merri rolled her eyes. Could her dear mother possibly suck up to LaSalle any more? One of those bottles of Pinot Noir was going directly into the flower box outside her window to chill, likely after immediate opening.

"Well, any goodness I retained definitely goes to her, ma'am," he said. Frickin' charmer. Knew how to deal with her mother better than Merri did. "Not that I can claim to be anything but wicked."

Merri pointedly hefted her suitcase.

"I figured that you'd be okay in your old room, Merri," her mother said.

"And where are you putting LaSalle?" Merri retorted without skipping a beat. How many times did she have to explain that the man was just her federal agent partner, not her _partner_ partner. Maybe almost a friend, but _not_ a lover.

Her mother frowned briefly. Ironic. Merri could remember a time not _all_ that long ago when the woman would've been mortified by the thought of any man (well, boy, would've been more accurate then) staying in the same room as her daughter. Now, the older woman was desperate to see her only child 'settled'.

"I think the Oak Room will do, then. You know the way, dear. I have to finish up in the kitchen. Dinner will be ready in half an hour, so take your time settling in."

And with that, her mother disappeared. Very strange of the woman who liked to manage everything to leave a guest in Merri's hands. But it was pretty clear that Mrs. Brody was hoping the man who her daughter had brought home was more to her than the younger woman claimed. Never mind the fact that Merri hadn't been the one who'd invited him. It was all her mother's insistence. And, joy of joys, she seemed to be contriving to do everything in her power to make more of the agents' genial working relationship.

"This way." Merri led her partner through the large, old Victorian house, up the main staircase to the second floor guest rooms. Her parents had run a Bed and Breakfast out of the house as soon as they'd finished restoring it around her 9th birthday. The family's rooms and primary living space was set up in what used to be the servants quarters but had received intensive renovation. There were three guest rooms on the second floor, and her mother had chosen the one closest to the bathroom and the back stair for LaSalle.

"You said your parents ran a bed and breakfast," LaSalle commented as she showed him his room. "But this is some serious digs."

She'd never really observed the place before, having been exposed to it all her life. But seeing it through LaSalle's eyes, Merri had to agree that it was rather nice. The house overall, was immaculate. And the guest rooms were no different. Not only was The Oak Room neat and clean, but it was also nicely furnished. And tastefully so. Partway between chic and cozy, with a comfortable looking chair tucked in the corner, a dresser with mirror, the twin bed and nightstand. All the furniture were restored oak antiques. The pattern on the chair and bedspread were tastefully subtle, matching in color palette but not tacky enough to be precisely the same pattern. The window drapes were a shear in the same sage green found in various elements throughout the room. The only concession to the festive season was a candle placed on the sill with a bough of fresh spruce. The view beyond was of the snow covered back garden and the stand of white pine beyond. It _was_ a nice room.

"Bathroom's at the end of the hall," she said. "I'm going to go wash up and change before dinner."

She turned to leave, but he caught her by the wrist, making her turn back to face him.

"I'm sorry for all this," he said, looking sincerely repentant. "For makin' your visit home even more difficult."

"You're not making it difficult," she said. "My mom seems to like you, so maybe she'll end up spending too much time entertaining you to work up to her favorite subject... The Many Ways In Which Her Daughter Has Failed In Life."

LaSalle frowned at her, his thumb rubbing her arm in a consoling gesture until she looked pointedly at his hand, and he let it fall away. He was sweet. But she wasn't good at receiving affection. And he had no idea the sort of emotional war zone he'd entered.

"Your mama is very fond of mistletoe," he said, looking up at the sprig fastened above the door.

_She's very fond of finding me a man. _Merri thought bitterly. She openly rolled her eyes.

"Well, she's not here, so we don't have to placate her."

Merri made a hasty retreat, trying not think about how warm LaSalle's lips had felt against her cheek, tingling against her skin that had been chilled by the cold winter wind.

Damn her mother and her mistletoe.

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><p><strong>AN: Probably not the Mistletoe trope you were expecting, but I couldn't push it too far (yet). ;-) More pointless partner bonding/fluff to come…**

**A/N2: I'm going to warn you now… this fic is already promising to get smutty in the future… To the point where this, yet again, may become 'M' rated. Or I could try to maintain a 'T' rating, if readers prefer (not that my imagination will cooperate, but I could censor it out).**


	3. Hot Cocoa

**Author's Note: Realized I have to squeeze some serious writing in, if I want to finish this before I go on Christmas Vacation to internet-free land in just over two weeks… So have some more.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Hot Cocoa<strong>

Meredith couldn't sleep. To say her anxiety levels were high was probably -no, definitely- an understatement. It hadn't been _that _bad, she told herself, as she lay awake under her pink zebra print comforter (a remnant of her oddly preserved teenage bedroom). Her dad had been civil enough to LaSalle, although he'd gotten a little interrogate-y there over dessert, to the degree that Merri questioned whether it was her training or a natural genetic affinity that made her skilled at questioning suspects and eking out the truth. And then her mother took offense to Robert Brody's treatment of a guest. It had degraded pretty quickly from there.

But bygones were bygones... At least, Meredith really tried to not dwell on things she could not change. Otherwise she would've remained curled up on the bathroom floor of her Chicago apartment for much, much longer than she had after the whole _Moultrie_ incident. In fact, she still would've been moping about in her own little world of depression if she hadn't hauled herself up off the cold tile and told herself (in her mother's voice, to move on). Because what did moping ever accomplish?

No, it was more worries about the next few days that troubled her sleep. How much worse would her parents' arguing become? Would their hostility turn towards LaSalle? How uncomfortable would he be staying with her screwed up family? Would the arrival of her aunts and their families mitigate the awkward tension settling over the house like the blanket of snow outside, heavy and suffocating? Or would their presence only make things worse?

Merri turned onto her side, curling her hands up under her pillow and pulling her knees up towards her chest, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Ou- She rolled onto her back again, staring at the ceiling blankly. Sighing dramatically, she heaved back the covers, the cool air rushing over her bare legs and raising goose bumps on her skin.

Suddenly, lying in bed seemed preferable. But that despair-frustration cocktail of the insomniac had kicked in, and she knew she would not be able to sleep. So instead, she pulled on her flannel pajama bottoms and wool socks against the cold of the night and headed for a late night fridge raid for some comfort food.

The scene that Merri found in the kitchen was Norman Rockwell perfect. Well, had he been a small child instead of a grown man, it would've featured on the cover of The Saturday Evening Post.

Christopher LaSalle was kneeling on the bench seat of the breakfast nook with his face mere inches from the window, apparently utterly fascinated by the world outside the glass pane.

"If you're looking for Santa, you're a couple days early," she said.

The man who seemed much more 'boy' at the moment started, quickly turning away from the window to find her standing just inside the kitchen. His sheepish look at being caught unawares in such a vulnerable moment melted away into one of his classic grins, before he returned his attention to the view out the window. Merri wondered what he could find so fascinating in the dark, and walked slowly up to stand on the other side of the table.

And she had to admit it was beautiful. Moonlight was somehow streaming through snow that was falling to the earth in fat flakes. It was mesmerizing when it snowed like that... it didn't fall directly to the ground but floated back and forth. Even on a windless night, the white crystalline formations danced their way to the snow-covered earth.

There really wasn't anything as beautiful as a Northern wood on a winter night. The moonlight on the freshly fallen snow. The naked trees' shadows cutting clean lines across the blanket of white. It was a breathtakingly stark contrast, which artists and photographers had contrived to capture for centuries without true success. Nothing could compare to each unique moment rendered by the skilled hand of nature.

But Merri had witnessed such beauty more times than she could count, and found her captivated partner far more interesting. She was both charmed and envious of the child-like wonder on his face.

"Doesn't snow much in New Orleans, does it?"

"No, it don't," he said, still staring out the window. "We get some in 'Bama. But nothin' like this."

He turned away from the window, ingenuous grin on his face.

"It's amazin'."

Merri smiled. "It is... Right up until you have to dig your car out."

"What about bein' 'snowed in'?" he asked, now studying her with as much keen interest as the foot and a half of snow outside. "I thought that was a thing."

Merri laughed, couldn't resist teasing LaSalle, even though what she said was the absolute truth.

"That's for Southerners visiting the North. The rest of us can't take the day off for a little cold weather. Or we'd never live our lives. There's a saying in the Midwest..."

Merri knew her partner's affinity for colloquial humor, and she held his full attention.

"There are only two seasons: Winter and Construction."

LaSalle pondered her regional witticism for a second before he chuckled.

"An' let me guess..." he said. "Winter is the longer by a mile."

"Much more than a mile."

She smiled as he glanced out the window once more.

"Guess I'm sayin' we're 'snowed in', then." He didn't sound disappointed, as his blue eyes fixed on her once more, sparkling with what seemed his bottomless reservoir of merriment as she scoffed at the Southerner. "What would you, Miss Midwesterner, call it?"

"Friday," she said, deadpan.

He laughed heartily, she joining him until they fell into a silence. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't empty.

"So I've got snow as my excuse for seein' the witchin' hour , but what's your reason for leavin' your cozy bed, Brody?"

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious, which was silly because LaSalle had already witnessed enough to know what her family was like. And so she had to admit that her reluctance was more due to embarrassment over the fact that it affected her so, even after three-plus decades. She tried so hard to be the tough, unflappable federal agent. But on the inside, she was _gooey_. And a little jealous of her partner who seemed so comfortable in his skin.

"Ya know your family is more normal than ya think, bickerin' 'n' all," he said, his attention no longer split between herself and the snow falling outside.

She nodded silently.

He had slid down onto the bench seat, reclining in that laid back way of his, the focused intensity of his gaze belying the seemingly disinterested body language. She would've been a fool to ever have assumed him dim or unfocused just because his default posture was a laid back one. They'd worked together on case problems many times in the short while she'd been with the New Orleans office, and she'd noticed that their 'putting their heads together' consisted of his parking his rear in front of the paperwork and her flitting about, pacing out her excess energy as she thought.

He was displaying just such contemplative behavior now, only _she_ appeared to be the problem laid out before him, which she did not appreciate in the least.

"I was going to make some hot chocolate," she said, heading for the pantry. "Want some?"

"Sounds great," he said.

She tried to proceed as if he weren't there, studying her like she were some sort of fascinating puzzle. God, but she could feel his astute eyes following her about the kitchen as she pulled out the containers of sugar and Ghirardelli cocoa (the plain old Swiss Miss mix was all the guests could expect, but damned if Merri wasn't going to use her mother's stash of the good stuff, for it was the woman's fault she couldn't sleep.)

"You makin' it from scratch?" Suddenly, LaSalle was standing beside her, looking over her shoulder. "I've only ever had the 'dump a packet into hot water' kind."

"This situation calls for the 'whole fat milk, dutch cocoa and pure cane sugar heated on the woodstove' kind of hot chocolate."

"That sounds delicious, Brody."

He watched her 'measure' out her ingredients into the stainless steel pot and place it on the woodstove tucked into the corner of the kitchen, taking his turn at stirring until the sugar had melted, the cocoa dissolved and it was a slightly frothy homogeneous brew of pure heavenly goodness.

They settled down into the breakfast nook, warming their hands on the porcelain Christmas-themed mugs and sipping their hot cocoa in a genial silence.

Why was it so comfortable being with LaSalle when her own family made her lie awake at night with anxiety causing her to grind her molars smooth?

Life was bizarre. She'd found a more understanding and affectionate 'family' amongst work colleagues who'd been strangers mere months ago. Shared blood did not guarantee personality types that would get along. They were her family and she would love them always. Unfortunately, she did not especially _like _them.

LaSalle made a pleased hum in his throat as he took another long drink of the hot cocoa. His pleasure was palpable, and it warmed her insides more than the steaming drink. She knew it was ridiculous. How could she feel what he was feeling, just sitting beside him in the quiet kitchen?

Well, the man _was _emotionally effusive. Something she'd found off-putting in many others, but primarily due to the fact that they possessed various motives for always pouring their emotions out onto the people surrounding them. Chris LaSalle was simply an unreserved, social man, and she _liked _it. He had no reason other than his own cheerful state of living that caused him to openly express himself. And Merri could tell it was because he was in control, that he could reel in his good humor when he needed, be all 'tough, no nonsense federal agent.' She wondered if she could tell so much about him, whether he could see right through her as well, beyond her reserve to her emotionally unstable interior? She already slipped more than she would've liked with her new team mates. She laughed freely with them, which was fine, but she also shared a little bit too much personal information. But god, it was difficult. How could she not warm to the friendly men that she felt _so _comfortable around?

"I'm sorry that I dragged you into this mess," Merri said after a few minutes, feeling guilty at subjecting the good natured man to such trials as being interrogated by a Vietnam War veteran, and gushed over by a mother desperate to marry her only daughter off, and the petty arguments between an old, vindictive married couple and their emotionally distant offspring.

"I'd rather spend Christmas with you 'n' yours than with some strangers in a bar," LaSalle said, and she could tell it wasn't as much flirtation as depressing truth.

"Oh!" She feigned insult, unwilling to allow her perpetually optimistic partner from succumbing to the depressing notion of what his Christmas would've been if Evelyn Brody hadn't forced him into theirs. "So I only rank better than 'strangers in a bar'?!"

"Keep it up with the hot cocoa and whatnot and I might just spend New Year's with ya instead of some casual acquaintances."

She slapped him in the arm.?

"What do I have to do to make your 'friends' list?"

He didn't reply, only stared at her, a certain sort of sparkle in his dark blue eyes that roused something long neglected deep inside of her. Thankfully, he only let the strange tension persist between them for a few seconds before he raised his eyebrows suggestively and then broke out in a wide grin. Blushing, she hit him again, harder, and then laughed.

"Guess I'll settle for 'better than casual acquaintance', then," she said.

"Well, suit yourself," he said, faking being hurt and resigned to it, an expression entirely belied by his playful eyes.

They settled into an easy silence once more as they finished drinking their hot cocoa, their bodies unconsciously gravitating towards one another until their shoulders and outer thighs were touching lightly.

After LaSalle insisted on helping her to quickly wash and dry the dishes they'd used, Merri returned to her room, falling fast asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

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><p><strong>AN: Building a friendship? Or leading to something **_**more**_**?**


	4. Christmas Tree

**Author's Note: Because youse is awesome readers, and I loves ya's all… another update.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Christmas Tree<strong>

Merri picked up her glass of wine off the coffee table and took a sip, turning back to the large, half-decorated fir tree.

Normally, this was a mandatory 'family' activity, but her mother's obvious plot to allow her and LaSalle to spend time alone in each other's company was in full force.

The (perhaps not) unwitting and (definitely) unfortunate target of this plot was currently standing on a rung about two-thirds up the ladder, and reaching out to hang a red, shiny glass ball on a branch. He was focused on the task at hand, leaning slightly to reach the tree, giving Merri a _perfect_ view of his backside. And it was a lovely bottom. Filling out his trousers just so, firm and _mm-mm_. Her palms itched with the urge to grab that sweet ass.

Okay. And setting the alcoholic beverage back down, now. (Maybe she'd had enough wine…)

Finished, Chris turned back to face her, big grin on his face. Yes. he seemed to be having fun decorating the ridiculous ten foot tall evergreen tree, asking her about the various ornaments she handed to him, for it was obviously an eclectic collection accrued over the years. And each one did have some story and sentimental value behind it.

She picked up the fragile, aging paper ornament on the top of the pile. It was yellowing around the edges and looked like... well, an incongruous blob. Did this really need to go on the tree?

Her mother would think so.

Merri sighed and when LaSalle turned to her for the next ornament, she handed the monstrosity up. He gave her a puzzled look.

"_What _is this suppose ta be?" he asked. Then a mischievous smile crept slowly across his face. "Ya know what it looks like, right?"

"Hey!" Merri snatched the ornament back out of his hand. "I made that when I was four years old."

His eyebrows raised. So what if it looked sort of like... _male parts_? At age four, her motor skills hadn't been all that developed, but she'd handled the pair of safety scissors pretty well, she thought. Just because that one circle was more of an elongated oval, and she hadn't glued them in the proper places... Oh, shit. It really did look like a-

"It's a snowman!" she said to the man who was now openly laughing at her.

"Sure it is, Brody."

She punched him in the calf, because it was the only body part she could reach. He jerked and wobbled a little, and she immediately regretted physical striking out at him for the facetious insult.

"Ow!" he said, steadying himself on the ladder. "You tryin' to kill me? Hopin' Pride will find you a new partner?"

"It's on my Christmas List," she replied, returning his playful grin.

"Give it here," he said, reaching his hand out for the ornament once more.

"No." She held it out of his reach, which wasn't difficult, considering he was precariously perched on an aluminum ladder. "You've ruined it for me."

She tried to make her expression a serious one as she looked up into his face.

"I hope you're happy, LaSalle. You've ruined my childhood."

"Just give me the damned penis ornament, Brody."

...

After about an hour of meticulous decorating, the pair of NCIS agents stood back admiring the Christmas tree, with all of its twinkling lights, and random collection of bought and homemade ornaments.

"Looks good," Merri said. "Thanks for doing all the work, LaSalle."

"I was just the grunt. You tole me where to put everythin'."

"Well kudos to both of us." Merri raised her refreshed wine glass and toasted, taking a good sip.

"So..." LaSalle drawled with a crooked grin. "What's next on the itinerary?"

Meredith sighed.

"I don't know," she said. "Let me run it past the Master of Ceremonies."

"Or..." He plopped down onto the sofa. "We could just sit here until she comes 'n' fetches us by the ears."

Merri liked that idea, and sat down beside him, bringing her glass of wine with her. She polished it off, closing her eyes and relaxing with a sigh, the alcohol temporarily flushing the tension from her.

"I've seen ya enjoy a beer with your dinner," Chris said, interrupting the quiet house (bar the Christmas music drifting from the kitchen). "But I didn't think I'd ever see ya _drinkin'_."

"I'm not drunk," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. His brows knitted together in a frown.

"I didn't say that ya were. I'm just wonderin' why..."

"Why I need to drink to get through this weekend?" she asked, feeling her defensiveness flare. "Have you _met _my mother?"

He nodded soberly.

"She doesn't give ya the respect ya deserve, but parents have a hard time seein' their children as anythin' but kids in need of their guidance."

She snorted derisively, but simultaneously knew her partner had a point.

"Where'd you learn so much wisdom? From your _mama_?"

He didn't give her the grin she'd wanted, but instead looked silently away. _Shit. _Foot-in-mouth yet again, Merri. Remembering the few times he'd tried to comfort her, his penchant for physical expressions of concern, she placed a hand on his arm. Just because she did better without the soothing attention of another, and liked to keep her troubles to herself, didn't mean every other human being operated the same way.

"Why were you going to be alone on Christmas?" she asked in a voice so quiet that, if he chose to, he could pretend he hadn't heard her. But he didn't. And she felt something soften inside of her over his willingness to share with her.

"I don't have anyone," he said. "My parents are gone. And my brother..."

Their eyes met momentarily and the sadness in his dark blues broke her heart a little. More than a little.

"He's had troubles. Our home wasn't all that of a good 'un, and I got outta there as soon as I could. I... I hadn't realized then that Cade couldn't do the same." LaSalle closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "I left him behind. And by the time I found him again, he didn't want anythin' to do with me, didn't want my help. I haven't even seen him in three years.

"King, 'n' _you,_ are all I got."

Her fingers had slipped from his arm to his hand, which she squeezed gently. She had no idea what to say. What _could_ she say? It would only sound trite, hollow, meaningless. But the pained expression on his face, reflecting his heart ache... She wrapped her arms about the man and pulled him into an uncharacteristic display of open affection. He hugged her back, burying his face in her neck, and showing no sign of releasing her any time soon, so that she had to shift her legs about until she was mostly sitting in his lap, just so her spine wasn't twisted about in a excruciating torsion of vertebrae.

He was pleasantly warm, and smelled of the fir tree they'd been decorating.

Merri had never received a lot of physical affection growing up, and it always took her awhile to be comfortable enough with a person to touch them, let alone _hug_ them, or _cuddle_ them. Generally, she instinctively stiffened, felt awkward and uncomfortable. But this was admittedly very, very nice. Just the right amount of pressure, and it was warm inside of his arms, but not too hot. He _smelled fricken delicious_, and the rhythm of his breathing was soporific. She turned her face into his neck, ran her fingers over the soft, closely cropped hair on his nape. His breath was hot, damp and tickling on her own bare neck. But it wasn't enough of an annoyance to disturb her. Neither was the fact that she was losing feeling in her right arm that was tucked behind his back. Because he was tracing slow circles along her spine and holding her so wonderfully snug, and cozy, and she felt herself drifting off, not quite asleep but in a blissful sort of daze.

"The tree looks great, kids."

Merri started violently, and scrambled out of LaSalle's lap to resume sitting beside him as her mother entered the room. Her heart was racing like she had her gun drawn on a suspect. God, her mother terrified her more than the possibility of fatally shooting a person, or getting shot herself.

"Thank you, Mrs. Brody," LaSalle's composure was disgustingly smooth. What would it take to ruffle his feathers?

Merri herself avoided looking at her mother for as long as possible, fearing the smug expression that would doubtless be plastered across her face if she'd caught them cuddling on the couch. Maybe they'd separated in time, before... Nope.

Her mother had a grin on her face and a glass of what Merri knew better than to think was clear soda in one hand. At least the gin and tonic had made an appearance _after_ noon. Perhaps out of courtesy for their daughter's guest?

"What's the next project?" Merri asked before her possibly-only-half-a-glass-but-likely-much-more-in-her-cups maternal figure made some sort of embarrassing comment.

She smiled the sort of smile that only came after at least two doses of gin.

"I think you kids earned a break," she said. "Why don't you go outside and play in the fresh snow?"

"Because we're not ten years old, mom."

Her mother's face manifested the early stages of The Look, and Brody inwardly rolled her eyes (outward expression of such sarcasm would only increase the Threat Level). The Look displayed displeasure with the world at large, but especially those directly responsible for thwarting Evelyn Brody's Plans. In most cases, the malfeasants being husband and only child. Its appearance meant there was some specific reason to her wanting Merri and her partner out of the house. The sprigs of mistletoe the instigator daughter yanked off doorframes whenever she could stealthily reach up and pull down came readily to Merri 's mind. But the older woman supplied an alternative (if not truthful) motive.

"It's been years since I've seen a snowman in the yard."

Merri scoffed at her mother's seeming sentimentality, looked to her partner for back up, and caved entirely. LaSalle had a 'Oh goody! Can we?' expression on his face, if she had ever seen one.

"LaSalle doesn't have proper snow gear," Merri tried futilely, already knowing what the near future held.

"Oh, how would you know, Merri? Unless you packed your _'partner's'_ suitcase for him?"

Merri was only somewhat relieved her mother hadn't attempted actual air quotes and subsequently spilled her drink. The tone in her voice rendered them unnecessary, however, and Merri's temper flared. Why couldn't the woman listen to her?! Why did she have to drag LaSalle into the middle of her need to control and berate her daughter?

"Unfortunately, Merri's right," he said, placating her mother but taking Merri herself off-guard with the familiar use of her name. He always used her surname, sometimes teasing her with 'Lovely Agent Brody.' But she supposed that it didn't make sense to call her 'Brody' when he was surrounded by people who would all respond to it. "I ain't exactly possessing of the necessary attire."

"You can borrow some of Robert's things," Evelyn Brody announced. "He won't mind a smidge."

And that was the end of that debate. Ski pants, gloves, scarf, tuque, boots and a heavy winter coat were scrounged up for LaSalle, while Merri dug out some of her old winter work-play clothes. She felt herself grow excited when she gazed out the window as she layered up (not too heavily or she'd fast be uncomfortably hot traipsing through the knee-deep snow). The sun was shining and the sky was blue.

Yes, the cold, crisp winter day was calling to her...

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><p><strong>AN: Uh-oh… the wine is making Brody have inappropriate thoughts about her partner! For shame! She had better go work off that booze by playing in the snow!  
><strong>

**A/N 2: EDITED to reflect the prevailing(internet/societal) opinion that spruce trees do not smell good. (Something I've never personally encountered in my 20-plus years living, working and playing in the woods.) Thanks to 'Athena Silverwolf' for pointing out the piece of common knowledge I had apparently missed the memo upon. I do try to be accurate to the best of my abilities/knowledge... mostly.**


	5. Snowman

**Author's Note: Meant for this chapter to be done much earlier, but it's been a rough week. And my stress levels had risen to a point where I couldn't even relax enough to write :-(**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Snowman<strong>

Merri took a deep breath of the clean, fresh winter air. Living in cities had only made her appreciate it all the more, even with the initial icy sting as the freezing air bit at her lungs. It cleared her head in a way no amount of meditation, reading, or doing puzzles could. There was just the day. No past concerns. No future worries. Just the snow, trees and sky. The sky, so blue, the kind of blue that really only ever happened in the cold of winter. Hot, hazy summers had nothing on a frozen blue sky.

Merri fell to her knees, the blanket of ice crystals compacting beneath her weight so that she sunk down only about half a foot, rather than hitting the unyielding earth below. Swiping a hand through the snow, she tested the cohesion of the substance before scooping up a handful and crushing it in the palm of her glove, and finally opening her fist to find a dense wedge of snow clinging to the wool.

"What in the Sam Hill are ya doin'?" LaSalle asked, disrupting her communion with one of nature's strangest, most beautiful _and_ most hated creations.

"Figuring out what kind of snow we're dealing with," she said.

"There's different kinds of snow?" LaSalle's expression was halfway between confused hesitation and outright amusement. "I thought that was just hooey people believed 'bout eskimos."

"The _Inuit_ have a hundred words for 'snow'. This is _wasqut_, which means 'snow for making man'."

He appeared to give this some consideration, before breaking out in a lopsided grin.

"I do believe you're bull shittin' me, Brody."

She let the laugh she'd been suppressing burst forth.

"I have no idea how the Inuit would describe this type of snow in any of their languages," Merri said. "But there is most definitely more than one kind of snow."

LaSalle gave her a skeptical look.

"You know how skiers always talk about 'powder' as ideal conditions?"

He nodded.

"Well this..." she scooped up another handful of the heavy snow, demonstrated its excellent cohesive properties, due to the fact that the temperature was hovering just around the freezing point. "...is perfect for Snowman-making."

He still looked skeptical.

She scooped up a bit more snow, and with both hands, packed it tight in less than a second (because it was indeed ideal conditions for it). She then whipped the snowball at him, hitting him square in the chest and apparently catching him by surprise, for he stumbled backward and fell into the deep blanket of snow.

Merri laughed. But LaSalle only groaned, so she got to her feet and standing over him offered a hand with what was genuine concern for he seemed more afflicted than she thought he'd be by a mere snowball to the sternum at close range. Taking her hand, he locked eyes with her, a terribly mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes. _Uh-whoa! _He pulled her sharply down, throwing her into the snow beside him, while simultaneously getting hastily to his feet.

Merri didn't hesitate to tackle him back to the ground. A couple feet of (thankfully non-icy) snow served better than the gym mats in the aikido studio she attended to keep up her skills. Even as she found herself wrestled roughly to the ground, the snow cover cushioned her body, but she wasn't about to let her gloating partner actually win.

"Thought ya'd bushwhack me, did ya?"

LaSalle grinned smugly down at her, his body weight pinning her down. She wiggled a little, appearing like she were uncomfortable and trying to escape, when in fact she was getting her limbs in just the position to- she threw him off and jumped on top of him, making him grunt as her weight hit him in the stomach and forced the air from his lungs.

"Where'd ya learn to rough house?" he asked, sounding a little winded. He didn't say 'fight', and rightly so. He was aware of her training, and they both knew what they'd been doing was mere play. Actual sparring between the two of them would be much different than rolling around in the snow. No. It was definitely 'rough housing', a game more characteristic to young boys, not grown women.

"Why? Because I'm a girl?" she asked, her incensed tone not entirely faked.

"No. Because you're an only child."

Oh. Merri smiled. Just because her partner held some antiquated views on chivalry didn't make him sexist.

"I was the only girl amongst a plethora of male cousins until Mattie came along when I was twelve."

LaSalle had that look he often got around her. And Merri could now recognize it for what it was. Unadulterated pleasure in her quirks. Like she were a fascinating novelty to the man. She returned his affectionate and amused stare with a challenging one, and seemingly uncomfortable at being called out, he looked away, beyond Merri now sitting on his chest to the expanse of snow in the yard.

"I believe we promised your mama a Snowman," he said.

"Right."

Merri clambered off from her partner, momentarily glad for the rather bulky layers that prevented her from feeling the appealing form she knew her partner possessed beneath the winter clothes. It had made wrestling about with him much less distracting, much more 'innocent good fun' that her mind couldn't sully with inappropriate thoughts. For there _was_ a reason she had never suggested they practice together even though he blatantly had some training, and some serious take down skills. She was physically attracted to Chris LaSalle and didn't trust herself to be in such intimate proximity with the man when her body was filled with adrenaline. She might just do something stupid.

"Where do we start?" LaSalle asked, breaking her mental revelry and internal scolding to not let her partner worm his way past her defenses. He was already proving to be the best friend she'd had since Anita Wilkes in the seventh grade.

"Okay."

She turned to an unsullied stretch of snow. They'd made a bit of a mess rolling about, but if they started here and then hooked around the side of the house, the snowman would be sitting pretty in front of the parlor window.

She knelt down in the snow, made a heap in front of her and began to shape it into a spherical form...sort of. She glanced only briefly at LaSalle who was watching her method curiously, making a surprised noise when she carefully started to roll the mass forward. The snow beneath clung to it, adding about half an inch. she continued to half pile-half-push on it, until it was rolling more smoothly, and growing in size quite quickly, the weight of the mass compacting the snow beneath and collecting it, until it was leaving a naked strip of dead grass in its wake.

After about fifteen feet, however, it became more and more difficult to move, especially if she slowed down or stopped.

"Some help, LaSalle?!"

"Uh...yeah."

He'd apparently been mesmerized by the process, just standing there and watching her roll the snow up like a carpet. He kneeled down beside her and heaved at the mass of snow. They pushed it another ten feet, which would have to be close enough to her chosen destination, because it was already taller than her kneeling form and over two feet wide.

They stepped back and surveyed their work.

"It looks more like a bale of hay than a ball," he said.

"They're only perfectly round in drawings." Merri felt a little defensive of their rather impressive accomplishment. "In real life, they come in all different shapes and sizes."

"Truer words ain't never been said." His lips twitched, and Merri clearly saw several dirty directions he had possibly taken their conversation in his head. _Men._

She had him help her turn the 'bale' of snow onto its side and then tasked him with making another, slightly smaller for the chest, tackling the head herself. When they stacked them, it looked more like a cylindrical robot than a classic snowman.

"Guess he needs some cosmetic work," she said.

"Harsh," LaSalle said. "I thought you said they came in all shapes and sizes. Or are ya more shallow than I thought? Is it all 'bout looks with you?"

She pinned him with a glare.

"C'mon, Brody..." The man just couldn't resist teasing her, could he? "Even us plain fellows need a little love."

She raised an eyebrow at him. His confidence never seemed to waver, and he was_ well _aware of his charm, but did he really not know he was quite an attractive man? Cute. Charming. Handsome. _Sexy_. She wouldn't _-couldn't_- argue against any of those terms being used to describe the agent.

"I fully intend on giving one of you some love," she said, unable to resist. Damn his magnetically flirtatious personality.

She then proceeded to shape the rather avant-garde sculpture into a more traditional snowman figure. LaSalle was a quick study, and soon was helping her shave off bits here and add handfuls of snow there until the oddly cylindrical masses of snow were rounded.

They stepped back together, tilting their heads one way then the other in acute observation of their work.

"He needs a scarf," Merri said.

"He needs a face," LaSalle said.

The two rushed back to the house like small children, their exuberance quickly transforming into a race to see who could reach the mudroom first. Merri would've won, but the sneaky bastard reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling her back and slingshotting past her. They were both completely breathless when her mother opened the door to frown at them. Likely due to their snow-covered, disheveled state. There was no way in hell Evelyn Brody was letting the pair in to drip on her floors and dirty up her house.

"Need... Clothes... man..." Merri was winded, the cold air burning her lungs as she inhaled deeply.

"Our snowman's a little nekked, Mrs. Brody," LaSalle explained more coherently.

"Oh. Well, we can't have that." Her mother's words seemed a little slurred, but the woman was a high-functioning drunk and obviously understood what they were asking her for. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Merri turned to her partner. "_Nekked_? And what exactly are you implying about our snowbuddy?"

He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner before chuckling. "You were the one _givin' him some love._"

"You didn't leave me many options, LaSalle, giving me the choice of you or him."

"Ouch! That hurts me, Brody, right down deep in my-"

The door opened again, revealing Merri's mother with a pile of supplies, including scarf, requisite carrot, even bits of coal and a top hat. Where the hell had she scrounged up coal and a top hat?

"What? No corn cob pipe?" she asked sarcastically as LaSalle took the snowman kit off her mother's hands.

"Oh," she scrambled in her pocket and produced _a fricken corn cob pipe! _"Here."

Slightly stunned at her mother's helpfulness, Merri traipsed back to the 'nekked' sculpture on the lawn, her partner whistling 'Frosty' as he clumped along beside her. They made fast work of hiding their snowman's shame, finding some branches to use for arms, with red wool mittens for hands, giving him a lopsided smirk -which reminded Merri of someone she knew, and draping the scarf just so...

"Perfect," LaSalle said when they'd finished and stopped to admire the finished product of their last hour's work.

"Almost..." Merri reached up, tilted the top hat. LaSalle gave her a questioning look. "It needed a little 'Bing'."

"_Bing_?"

"Bing Crosby..." She felt her cheeks flushing. So what if she liked the 'most admired man alive' (in 1948)? And knew more about him than simply recognizing his music… "You know, with the hats always at that rakish angle?"

"Sure, Brody." LaSalle openly laughed at her until he caught her glare.

"No offense, partner." He put his hands up in placation. "I just never woulda taken you for a Bing Crosby fan."

"You don't know me," she said, narrowing her eyes. Truth was, he knew her pretty _damn _well for such a short time of acquaintance. He stared back at her, as if to say, 'oh yes, I do, darlin'.'

"Fine," she relented, stalked up to the snowman, and reached to straighten his top hat. Before her fingers could even brush the rim, she was yanked backward, strong arms wrapped about her waist. Her first instinct was to strike back, but she quickly marshaled it, knowing precisely who it was that pulled her with such force that they both tumbled into the snow.

"What the hell, LaSalle?" She tried to roll off from him and get back to her feet, but he hugged her tightly.

"I'm not lettin' ya ruin our masterpiece," he said.

"Let me go." She grabbed clumsily at his forearms with her thickly gloved hands, unable to get a good grip.

"Nope." His tone had changed. "What are ya goin' ta do 'bout it?"

"Hurt you."

That was a lie. She had no desire whatsoever to hurt the man. At least, not as badly as she was capable of doing... But maybe just a little -she elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to be felt through the layers of warm clothes. He grunted, but only clutched her tighter in reaction. _Damn. _She threw herself to the right as forcefully as possibly. Then to the left, trying to loosen his grip.

"Is that how you wanna play it?" he asked, laughter in his voice. And then he rolled them, crushing her a little before he lifted his weight off from her. Unsure of what his endgame was, or even his motives, Merri waited for his next move, which was to flip her over onto her back and stare at her in that unsettling intense way of his. God, she couldn't take it.

She'd kicked men's asses for less.

She'd jumped their bones for less.

She had no idea which she'd rather do to punish the man who was gazing at her with unreserved appreciation.

She settled on throwing him off from her, making him groan a little as he hit the now hard packed snow beside her. Looking up at the blue sky, her mind muddled with conflicting thoughts, Merri knew what she wanted, no, _needed _to do.

She struggled to her feet, and offered a hand up to her partner, which he ignored, feigning hurt, forcing her to reach down and wrap her hand around his wrist.

"Come on, you big faker," she said, tugging at his arm until he relented and got to his feet, pausing to brush snow off from his backside, which was sort of funny, considering how much of the white stuff was caked onto him everywhere else. She urged him on and he followed her, reluctantly, but only at first, his interest seemingly piqued as she led him across the yard to the tree line and then into the woods.

She knew it probably seemed ridiculous, would sound ridiculous to anyone had she ever tried to explain, but she was too filled with pure, unadulterated happiness and a little bit of eager anticipation to care about how insane she must look. There were a couple of spots that came to mind and on a whim she headed southwest, dividing her gaze between the twigs that were at potential eye-gouging level, the likely uneven ground deep beneath the snow cover and the canopy of naked tree branches above their heads. It was gorgeous. _The_ most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen, and would ever see. At about a third of her lifetime (she hoped) in, she knew it with an unwavering certainty. She'd liked many places that she'd lived. She loved New Orleans, had a fresh new passionate affair with the city. But this, this was her soul's home.

"Here," she announced, stopping in a place that seemed _right_. She abruptly plopped down on the snow, reaching up to grab LaSalle's wrist, noting and ignoring his bemused expression, and then pulling him down beside her. Rolling onto her back, she sighed with satisfaction as her vision filled with the beautiful bare bones of the trees against the blue, blue sky.

"What are ya doin'?" LaSalle asked, his face suddenly filling her vision and interrupting the strikingly rendered canvas overhead.

"Just lie down..." she said, and then waited for him to sigh and comply. She wondered if he found the snow uncomfortably cold even through the layers of clothing he was wearing. Or if, like her, he felt as if he were laying on a cool but extremely soft mattress, the insulating effect of the snow soon negating the cold of the air. She continued her instruction in winter meditation.

"Listen..."

All that could be heard were the trees creaking in the gentle breeze, swaying ever so slightly overhead, as mesmerizing as watching a flame burn.

"Be..."

Merri could've fallen asleep in the woods, just like Rip Van Winkle. Only she would freeze to death if she stayed too long, not wake in twenty years... just never wake again. Yet, if she had to choose a way to go... it was pure serenity, lying in the quiet of nature. The trees creaked, there was a gentle, muffled sort of crash and thump as snow fell from over-laden evergreen boughs to the ground. Her breathing was strong and even. As was _his_…

Oh, she'd nearly forgotten she'd dragged LaSalle along with her on her little excursion -okay, more 'desperate need for reprieve'.

"Cold yet?" she asked quietly.

"A little," he whispered back. "It's beautiful, though."

And then she felt the pressure of his gloved hand on hers.

"Thanks for sharin' this with me."

His tone implied that he knew just precisely what she had shared with him, what she hadn't quite realized she'd revealed, a secret joy of her heart, a bit of her soul. It should've been alarming to a person who tried so hard to keep her inner self to, well, herself. But it wasn't. LaSalle had a way of putting her at ease, of putting everyone around him at ease, she supposed.

Either way, the joy of the fresh air and fun in the snow stayed with her through their entire walk back to the house, and long afterward, despite her mother's increasingly intoxicated state, and her father's notable absence for the evening.

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><p><strong>AN: Still upset by stressful week. Even writing some (hopefully) adorable LaSalle/Brody hasn't made me feel better.**


	6. Eggnog Part 1

**Author's Note: It's not looking good for me finishing this up before I head out on vacation next week… Maybe you guys will stick around, even if my 'Christmas' fic is still being updated **_**after **_**the holiday?**

**Also note that this bit has been broken into parts, for ease of reading… (explained in chapter afterword).**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Eggnog Pt. 1<strong>

_Hoo-boy! _The alcoholic content of the drink burned its way down her throat, despite the soothingly cool and creamy liquid in which it was suspended. She closed her eyes and savored it, knowing better than to try to say anything or take a breath before the heat had completed its journey.

"Is your secret recipe that it's all nog and no egg?" Merri asked, after the swallow of Christmas punch settled, and she opened her eyes to find LaSalle studying her intently. Damn the man. He was giving her one hell of a smug look. What was it like to find so much amusement, so much joy in the world? Some days Merri wished she wasn't such a pes-_realist_. But she did find joy in things like a good (_strong_) glass of eggnog, playing in the snow, cuddling up by the fire, her partner's gorgeous smile...

He brandished the now empty bourbon bottle. It sported a label local to a Southern Louisiana distillery. She almost asked how he'd managed to smuggle it onto their flight when he only had a carry-on, but hell, she knew better than to ask. Just used that damned smile of his, some smooth chitchat, maybe flashed his badge, and 'oh, go ahead sir', no need to be screened by security. It should make her feel unsafe, but it didn't. She felt all warm and happy as she settled back into the couch cushion, drink in one hand, tugging at her grandmother's afghan with the other to try to cover her flannel-pajama clad legs.

LaSalle took the edges of the blanket and deftly tucked it up around her, before he joined her on the sofa, taking a drink from his own eggnog and making a hissing noise that generally followed a man downing a shot of whiskey. Merri raised her eyebrows at him.

"Maybe I went a little heavy on the good stuff," he said. Inappropriate ingredient proportions didn't stop him taking another swallow, or prevent Merri from sipping at her own drink, however.

He stretched his free arm along the edge of the sofa behind her, giving her a casual glance, like a teenager making a move on his date, making her giggle like said teenager's date. Despite the temptation, however, she stayed where she was settled.

"C'mon, Brody," he said, falling into their old familiar rhythm... only there was something different, something new in their interaction. "You can cuddle up to me. I don't bite."

His look belied that statement, implying that he very well _would _bite under _certain_ circumstances, the thought of which made Merri's belly even warmer than the alcoholic eggnog had already achieved.

"I'm good," she said, with an iron will that had her more tense than relaxed in her otherwise eminently cozy spot. "Thanks."

She tried to ignore him, but he was doing that thing where he stared at her with such intense interest that she felt like he could see straight through her, every thought, feeling, insecurity and deepest, darkest secret... such as the fact that every fiber in her body was begging to snuggle into her appealing partner's warmth, to allow his easy-going nature to permeate and soothe her anxious one.

"I know you wanna..." he said quietly. "An' what harm will it do to sit here with me 'n' enjoy the fire and a drink?"

_More than you could ever realize._

Merri caved. The pull of him was too strong. Because she may try to maintain a proper distance from the world to prevent hurt and heart ache, but she was not even remotely good at being alone, at turning her heart cold to the people around her. And Chris LaSalle was an incredibly engaging person, open, honest... and _warm_.

She shifted, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping about her and coaxing her just that little bit closer. They stayed snuggled up like that for awhile, watching the fire crackle and then slowly die to glowing embers in the hearth.

"You're a winter lady, ain't ya?"

His whisper took a few seconds to permeate the thick, blissful haze that had wrapped Merri up just like her grandmother's afghan and her partner's arms. The comment reflected everything she feared about herself, about the side-effects of trying to maintain control over her life.

"I do come across as cold and austere, don't I?"

"What?" LaSalle sounded genuinely confused. Sitting up straighter, she shifted to face him, finding his expression to be as baffled as he'd sounded. "Hell no, Brody. That ain't what I meant."

He took her hand.

"This... this is your element. Ya have a beautiful smile and a playful personality, which I love..." Why did he have to stare so unwaveringly into her face? She wanted to look away, embarrassed by his complimentary words, but found she couldn't leave those intense eyes of his. "But I never seen ya so... so unreservedly happy as when we were in the woods today."

Merri could feel the color rise in her cheeks. No one had ever studied her so intently, so thoughtfully as Chris LaSalle. No one had ever witnessed her secret self, the bit of soul a person never shared, never revealed. But she supposed she _had_ shared it, without even realizing she'd done so. She'd dragged him along, wanting him to possess the experience she loved most in the world; The peace of the woods in winter.

He finally looked away, into the dim glow of the fireplace, and said, "An' I hafta wonder how you can possibly be content to live in New Orleans."

If she didn't know better, she'd say there was a sadness in his voice. But that didn't make sense. Not LaSalle. Not over her... Oh, shit. Was he actually worried she didn't want to stay in Louisiana?

"I love New Orleans, LaSalle," she said, squeezing his hand so that he looked at her once more. "And I love working with you and Pride. It's the first place that I've felt like I belonged in a long time."

_Truthfully, maybe ever._

How could she explain it, without sounding melodramatic or spacey?

_Oh, to hell with it!_

"My soul was forged here, is tethered to the North and the woods, and yes, the winter," she said with a smile. "But that doesn't mean it can't wander far, find happiness elsewhere."

"Good," he said. "Because I'd miss ya a helluva lot. Got used to havin' ya around."

His words gave her pleasure, but also embarrassed her a little. She threw off the blanket and struggled out of the cozy nest they had made of the sofa, collecting the empty glasses. He rose to help her, _of course_, when really what she needed was to be away from him...

He followed her into the kitchen, helped her clean up the mess they'd left after dinner, promising her mother they'd tidy up and urging her to go to bed with a 'You must be exhausted after preparing such a wonderful meal.' And by 'exhausted' they meant 'intoxicated off her ass.'

LaSalle washed and Merri dried dishes, that same easy silence that had settled over them while in the woods and sitting on the sofa falling over them once more. It was comfortable, felt so natural and _right_ that it created a different sort of tension, one of potential energy, seductive in its unexplored and undefined boundaries, sparking when their hands touched as plate or glass was passed between them.

Finally when they were done, LaSalle, ever the gentleman, walked her to her room, his hand pleasant and warm on the small of her back. And she didn't know why... maybe because she wanted to find it there, _hoped _to find it, but Merri glanced up.

"Looks like we're under the mistletoe, _again_."

LaSalle's gaze slid up to the sprig hanging from the lintel then back down to her eyes, and lower, to her mouth.

"You hate mistletoe," he said, leaning slowly toward her.

"I hate being coerced," she said, closing the distance between them so that there was but a mere inch separating their lips. "If I do something, it's because I _want _to do it."

"That's understandable."

Their lips touched, his full and warm, and firmly pressing against her mouth. And then parting as the kiss lengthened, intensified. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth as he embraced her, one hand steadying the back of her head, the other clutching her lower back, pulling her body flush to his. She granted him access to her mouth, her tongue sliding against his, her fingers reflexively twisting in his shirt front.

He tasted of the bourbon they'd just polished off. Warm and earthy, with a hint of vanilla. And Merri wasn't entirely sure whether it _was_ the whiskey, or just his natural flavor.

"Hmm..." She moaned softly, pressing against him.

The kiss came to a natural end, but they continued to stand close together, their foreheads touching.

"Lovely, _lovely_ Agent Brody," he said softly, his hands on her waist.

"You should call me Merri," she said. "At least, while you're kissing me."

"Okay," he said. "If you'll call me Chris... all the time."

"We should keep this separate from our work," she said, pulling away from him a little. She still _wanted _him, felt the pull of her attraction to him deep in her belly, but the doubts were beginning to surface.

"Agreed." LaSa-_Chris_ was staring at her with the same intensity as before, but there was a bit of reserve in his lively blue eyes. "But I don't just wanna to be your partner, Meredith Brody. I wanna be your friend."

She smiled, pulled him flush to her once more, whispering in his ear, "With benefits, I hope?"

He chuckled, and kissed her again, tasting of eggnog.

Mmm... _heaven_.

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><p><strong>AN: So, bet you can guess why this chapter is short/has been split into parts. Giving you the opportunity to have the plot points/character development without the smut, if you so choose. Coming up next… well, yeah. **

**A/N 2: When the next chapter is posted, this fic **_**will**_** be given a rating change, and thus will not appear on the main fandom page (without changing filter settings). Just an FYI for when it 'disappears.'**


	7. Eggnog Part 2

**Author's Note: Again, I had meant for this to be finished up/posted earlier in the week, but Christmas preparations got in the way! If you're enjoying this fic, but don't care for smut, then I recommend skipping this chapter (I've tried to divide them up/write them so that you can skip the 'M'-rated chapters without missing out on the character development/plot).**

**A/N 2: This doesn't really matter to you lot, I suppose, but I need facts and details straight in my head to let my creativity flow free. I've put Meredith Brody at 35 years old, because Zoe McLellan looks younger than she is, and it seems about right for the characterization. I'm assuming LaSalle is the same age as Lucas Black.**

**A/N3: Random discussion point… Just watched 1x10 'Stolen Valor, and loved the LaSalle back-story. It totally contradicts what I've given him in this fic, but I wasn't pretending this was remotely canon, at any rate. Also, I like Addie quite a bit, but I'm afraid they're going to recruit her recurring character into a lead role, like with McGee, and frankly I've been sort of grooving on the smaller main cast (well, smaller than NCIS: LA and regular NCIS, anyway). Now, on with the smu- I mean, **_**fic**_**…**

**WARNING: CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER**

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Eggnog Part 2<strong>

Almost as soon as her bedroom door was closed (and locked) behind her, Merri found her back pushed up against it, her partner's hands all over her body, his mouth kissing her until her head seemed to spin.

"We probably shouldn't be doing this," she said, when his lips finally freed hers, moving on to tease her neck.

"Probably not." It was hard to believe he agreed with her when he continued to suck and nip at her neck, making an appreciative rumbling noise low in his throat and showing no inclination of stopping. And neither did she want him to do so, truth be told. But the buzz in her head held a little warning.

"It's probably the whiskey," she said, arching her back and pressing her breasts against the solid muscle of his chest, feeling an additional thrill of sensation as the supple tissue compressed between their bodies, her nipples tightening reflexively.

This suggestion did make him pause, pull back to look her in the eyes. His were that gorgeous, clear dark blue, like the midnight sky. His fingers, strong and sure stroked her side, following her curves all the way up from hip to ribcage and back down, sending a shiver along her spine, despite the layers of clothing separating them.

"It ain't the whiskey," he said. And Merri knew he was absolutely right. Her head was entirely clear until he touched her. Then, then her nerves sang a symphony in her brain. And she wanted to join the choir.

"No, it's not the whiskey."

She pulled him into another kiss. His hands, always seeming so sure and steady in whatever he did, fumbled with the buttons on her sweater until, laughing, she placed a hand on his chest and firmly pushed him away, propelling him backward until he fell-sat on the edge of her bed. She took a couple steps out of his reach before he could grab for her, pull her into more kissing and touching that would place them in the same dilemma of 'too much clothing.'

But first, before they got too far and were forced to stop for some awkward scrambling... She located her purse, tossed on the top of the dresser, dug out the condom she kept in the inside pocket and placed it on the nightstand beside the bed, before she turned to him once more.

Curious, and admittedly a little bit nervous, Merri watched his face as she slowly unbuttoned her cardigan, shrugged out of it, and dropped it to the floor, continuing on by pulling her camisole over her head. His eyes were tracing every movement of her hands, even as she bent over to pull off her woolen socks (the unsexiest strip tease she could ever imagine, but naked wasn't really naked, if you still had your socks on). Standing once more, she pushed the waistband of her flannel pajama bottoms off her hips and shimmied out of them until they pooled at her feet. She waited for his eyes to wander up her legs, over her turquoise panties that in no way matched her bra (like men cared about that sort of thing, anyway), perusing the naked skin of her stomach, the full cups of her 'nude' bra, to where her fingers had begun to pull the straps off her shoulders.

Merri could feel the lack of support as soon as she'd removed the straps, and when she popped the front clasp, her breasts swung instantly free. She took her sweet time finishing discarding the garment, avoiding looking at her partner, a little apprehensive about what his reaction might be. Oh, Merri knew men liked naked breasts, really _any_ naked breasts. She was also well aware that she was more than amply endowed for a woman of her build. But being busty had never been the boon men and other women thought it to be. It had always been a source of, well, not _quite_ embarrassment, but _awkwardness_, she supposed. Now, she was okay with who she was... mostly... physically, anyway. But there was a lot of uncomfortable history to her growing from a girl into woman, and it lingered.

Merri finally dared to look at Chris LaSalle, who was dutifully parked where she'd set him, but his hands were gripping his knees so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. It was obvious that he wanted to touch her. And that was a good sign. When she raised her eyes to study his face, she was immediately captured by his gaze, which was directed at her own face, her own eyes. He wanted to touch her, was dying to touch her, but not because of her full breasts... or not _only_ because of her full breasts. There was no doubt in her mind, he wanted to touch her _because _of her, the entirety of _her_.

It was possibly the single most erotic manner in which she'd ever been gazed upon. Shimmying out of her panties, rendered completely naked, she stepped towards him, standing between his knees. He didn't grab her, only looked up at her with those ridiculously dark blue eyes of his. Only when she placed her hands on either side of his face did his fingers stir from their self-imposed prison and immediately seek her out, his arms wrapping about her and pulling her closer, his face pressing into the valley between her breasts. He kissed her there, his hands, at first still, began to wander, covering every inch of her bare flesh they could reach.

She reveled in his touch for a few minutes, its transition from hesitantly light and delicate to firm and determined as it explored her nude form, caressing, squeezing and stroking her flesh. And he hadn't even touched her in an especially sensitive spot...yet...

Finally, she pulled back from him, the satisfaction at being touched giving way to the need _to touch_. He was gazing at her intently once more, his hands lingering on her hips in an outright refusal to release her altogether.

"_Mm_." He made an appreciative noise as he studied her, and then he was standing in a flash, taking her face in his hands and kissing her like he'd failed to drink enough of her in with his eyes and could consume the rest of her with his lips and mouth.

Merri simultaneously didn't want the embrace to end and was frustrated by it, by the uneven ground. She was naked. His hands could, and were, touching her anywhere, everywhere, but she couldn't get to him. Even slipping her fingers under his fleece pullover and delving under the soft t-shirt beneath, she could only reach so much of him, his skin enticingly hot. She wanted _more_.

So she pushed him away, taking a step back, feeling the same loss she saw flash across his face over the temporary parting.

"You're turn," she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips curling in a facetious grin.

"Fair's fair," he said, pulling his fleece off over his head. "But I ain't nothin much to look at."

"I think I'll judge that for myself."

He shed his clothes with a practiced efficiency, and all the while his glances at her made her feel just as scrutinized as when she'd been the one stripping off her layers.

In short time, Chris LaSalle was standing before her in his naked glory. And he was _beautiful_. Merri took a good, long, appreciative look. He was a fit man, his body firm and toned. But he wasn't overly muscled or ridiculously bronzed, like the often lauded ideal of masculine beauty. In fact, the skin of his torso was pale in comparison to his face and arms. And Merri loved his farmer's tan, the line of it across the thick of his biceps. His deliciously strong arms, firm chest, flat stomach, trim waist and hips, toned legs, and... proud flesh.

She felt her mouth twitch as he gave her a 'Well?' expression, before she stepped in close again, running her hands over his chest. He had surprisingly soft skin, warm and smooth, the dark chest hair an interesting contrast of texture beneath her fingertips. She began to kiss his shoulder, slipping her hands around and down his back, cupping his amazing ass, feeling his buttocks twitch beneath her firm squeeze as she pulled him flush against her. She slid one hand back up to stroke the nape of his neck and then angle his head so that she could press her lips to the sun-kissed skin there, giggling over the thought that struck her funny bone.

"You really are a red neck," she said.

He pulled away, giving her a curious expression.

"Yeah...?"

She ran her hand over the back of his neck.

"You're a little sunburned."

He grinned in _that_ way of his, before he took her by surprise, scooping her up and throwing her on the bed.

"And you're a pale yankee."

He caught up one of her ankles as she tried to swing her legs over the edge, and began to kiss his way up the inside of the limb.

"I'm not from New England..." The protest died on her lips as she fast lost her train of thought. Oh, he certainly knew his way around a woman's body. _Oh, yes._

And then he was on the bed, on her, and making his way up her body with his mouth, placing a kiss on her hip bone, tickling her navel with his tongue, kissing a trail up into the valley between her breasts and then taking one of her already stiff nipples into his mouth, suckling her firmly until goose bumps broke out on her neglected breast in jealously. Arousal thrummed low in her belly, need coiling tighter and tighter as he paid equal attention to her other nipple, biting her slightly, her body jerking in response, before he finally found her mouth, kissing her fervently with his intrepid tongue.

"You're _beautiful_, Merri," he said, taking a break from applying his mouth to her body and lips, instead cupping her cheek and staring down into her eyes. Somehow, she blushed. She was naked, with his equally naked body on top of hers, entwined with hers, _pressing_ against hers, and she was embarrassed by the compliment.

"You aren't bad to look at either," she said, running a hand appreciatively down his back, feeling the strength in his shoulders, the smooth slope of his back, his _delectable_ flanks. She gave his ass another squeeze. "Or to touch."

He grunted, his hips instinctively jerking forward and his erection poking her just above the thatch of thick brown curls covering her pubic bone. So close to port, her insides tensed in anticipation. Apparently, his thoughts lay along the same lines, for she suddenly felt the warm, slightly rough palm of his hand cupping her highly-sensitized flesh. She moaned, more in desperation than relief at being touched, bucking her hips into his hand.

He chuckled.

"You're as eager as a filly to be mounted, ain't ya?" he asked, stroking her hot cheek and squeezing her sex with a firm but gentle hand. She felt herself blush deeper. As if she were a nervous and ridiculously eager teenager being touched for the first time, and not a 35 year old woman who'd had half a dozen relationships in her life so far, and a handful of flings. Although it had been over a year...

"You are a _tease_, Christopher LaSalle," she announced as he began to kiss her neck, his hand cupping her but remaining still. He discontinued the attention his mouth was paying her.

"Am I?" He stared down into her with his facetious blue eyes.

"Yes." She nipped at his earlobe. "And if you don't-"

Her threat was immediately preempted by his pushing a finger inside of her, making her gasp lightly.

"God, you're as damp as a church basement," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Is it all for me, Merri? Tell me it's for me."

"Yes," she said in a voice more breath than sound, as he pushed another calloused fingertip into her and began to massage her, stretching her entrance. She was wet, and desperate, but had to admit she was glad he was taking his time with her, because it _had_ been awhile. She felt the edge of nervousness bite at the back of her mind. Would he find her pleasing? Would she find him? If it was just mediocre, would she be able to fake it?

The doubts and worries were driven from her mind when a jolt of pure sensation shot through her, making her whole body jerk and forcing a cry from her lips.

"Found a sweet spot, did I?" Chris stroked her again, eliciting the same response, and grinning broadly with satisfaction. But then he removed his fingers and she instinctively thrust her hips forward, her body desperate to possess the source of its previous stimulation.

"You want me to touch ya again?" he asked as she glared at him. "Or should -whoa, now, beautiful."

She reached for him, to get a good grip on him and give him a little of his teasing in return, but he'd caught her hand before she could grab him, and his grin broadened even further, crinkling the skin at the corner of his eyes. And then those blue eyes of his darkened as his expression sobered, acquiring an intensity that made her insides tense. He reached for the condom that she'd dug out of her purse earlier and placed on the nightstand.

So, it shouldn't have shocked her when a few seconds later she felt the tip of him pressing against her swollen, sensitive flesh, but Merri found that despite all her accusations of teasing and eagerness for the main event, she had not been really prepared for his penetration. Even the fraction of his length he'd dipped inside of her felt impossibly large. How had she ever accommodated a man? How had it felt good? Oh, she knew she liked sex. For awhile she had thought herself a slut, because she had a fairly robust libido. She liked men, was quick to develop physical attraction, and, honestly, got off really easily. But then she'd studied psychology some, and realized she wasn't abnormal and shouldn't be ashamed. It was just her brain and body chemistry, her personality type. Besides, she'd never been out of control. Rather, she kept herself buttoned up tight, because she knew how easy it was for her to let someone in, to lust after them, to fall in love with them. And Chris was precisely the type of guy she was attracted to, and had in very short time managed to worm his way straight through her barriers.

"Look at me, Merri." She forced her eyes open, not realizing she'd closed them whilst throwing her head back and digging her fingers into his biceps.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern all over his features.

"Yes." She eased her grip on his arms, smiled wanly at him.

"Where'd you go?" he asked.

"I was just thinking about how much I like sex." This time she gave him a genuine smile. "And how much I like you."

"Well, what's the verdict?" Now he was grinning. "You like me or sex more?"

"Right now, I'd have to say it's a tie-oh!"

With a thrust of his hips, he began to plunge slowly into her, his thick, hard flesh filling her uncomfortably. But not painfully. He groaned as he leisurely sunk deeper.

"You feel amazin'," he said, moaning appreciatively, like someone with a mouthful of gooey chocolate chop cookie fresh from the oven. "Snug and warm."

"Hmm?"

He stroked her throat with his hand.

"Don't forget to breathe, beautiful."

Had she forgotten? Oh, she was holding her breath. She sucked in a lungful of air with a shuddering gasp, then continued to struggle for breath as he pushed further into her, a rumbling growl emerging from his chest.

"Are you resistin' me, Mere?" he asked, ceasing his slow, determined penetration, and giving her a look that was half flirtation, half concern.

"No," she said, trying to force her body to relax, accept and accommodate him. But she could feel her vagina tense, her elastic flesh not stretching quite enough to take him fully. "It's... it's just -_unh_- been a while."

"Am I hurtin' ya?" Now his look was all concern. He cupped her face with one hand, staring into her for some indication that she was hiding the truth from him.

"You aren't hurting me, Chris," she said. Locking eyes with him, she thrust her hips upward, forcing the remainder of his shaft into her, and wrapping her legs tightly about his waist to hold him there. Honestly, it did sting a bit, but nothing she couldn't handle, nothing that could compare to the pleasure she knew she'd soon experience, _had_ already experienced at the hands of this man. "You're just a little big."

This time, it was his turn to blush in a manner that seemed counterintuitive for two persons so intimately entwined.

"I'll be okay," she said, beginning to feel her inner muscles relax. Loosening her legs' grip on his waist so he could move, she stroked his back with her hands, kissed his face and neck soothingly, rolling her hips in a manner meant to coax him into action. "Now stop tormenting me. Or- _oh_."

He pulled out of her completely and then proceeded to thrust into her once more, the pace and force doubled, but still a reserved, tender penetration. And again. And again. And... the friction of his sliding against her vulnerable flesh and thrumming nerves soon overrode her other senses, left her breathless and frantic for the release upon the edge of which she teetered. Yet Chris continued to speak to her, touching her face, caressing her hip and outer thigh, kissing her lips, throat, breasts, shoulder...

"So good. Christ, Mere, you feel so fucking _good_. Tighter than a mouse's ear... Hotter than pone cake. Wetter than-"

He groaned when she dug her heel into his buttock with a little kick, making his hips jerk sharply and his cock drive deep and hard into her, grazing a spot that wound her up another turn. So, so close. It would come. She would come, but her patience for it was wearing thin, despite how much she was enjoying the feel of the strong, straining body on top of her, the noises of pleasure emerging from his throat and chest, the uniquely Chris LaSalle erotic words on his lips.

"You're close," he said as he continued to thrust in and out of her. "I can feel it. Will ya come for me?"

The thick Southern drawl somehow only enhanced the arousing quality of his voice, low and roughened by lust and exertion. It was almost, but not quite enough to transform the buzzing in her head to a crashing symphony.

"Yes, yes _please._" She was too desperate to be ashamed of begging. And then he was obliging, reaching down between their bodies, and deftly finding the swollen, vulnerable bud of flesh buried at the apex of her sex. The exposed nerves responded to the swipe of his finger, sending a electric jolt through her that had her gasping like a fish out of water.

"Come for me, Merri," he commanded, rubbing her mercilessly until ecstasy exploded in her head, spasms wracking her body, her muscles tensing, her back arching. She dug the fingers of one hand into his back, and bit down on the knuckles of the other in an attempt to stifle her climactic screams. For Chris did not cease his attentions to her, instead he worked her harder, pounding her relentlessly, and somehow still finding the breath to talk her through her devastating orgasm.

"That's it, lovely Brody," he said, sounding slightly winded. "Come harder. Harder. Scream for me, just for me."

She sunk her teeth further into her knuckles, as she fought not to do precisely what he was demanding of her, her body overwhelmed by sensations and not quite certain whether it was experiencing pure ecstasy or utter destruction. Somehow, she felt her partner's own building climax despite her overwrought senses, as his words degenerated into incoherency, only the odd expletive and her name detectable amongst the primal sounds. His movements became exponentially more fierce, until when she felt like she might not physically be able to take anymore, he came, her name a cry on his lips as he thrust forcefully into her a final time, his entire body tensed and straining. And then, the next moment he was a boneless weight on top of her, panting and moaning softly, just laying there, in blissful oblivion for well over a minute. But even when he seemed to recover his senses slightly, he didn't immediately pull out and roll off from her, but rather began to kiss her face once more, stroking her sweat-coated skin, tickling the yet still humming nerves just beneath the surface, sending additional jolts to the buzzing ones buried deep inside of her flesh.

Finally, with blatant reluctance, he removed himself from her body and her bed, apparently to dispose of the soiled condom. Merri considered that if there was a time to send him on his way, this would be it. But she couldn't do it, didn't _want_ to do it. Even though she should. Being weak enough to give in to her lust and take the man to bed was one thing. Spending the entire night in his arms was another... But god, how she still wanted him. Not for an immediate repeat performance (well, perhaps later, yes) but simply a general need for him, to be with him, close to him, hear his breathing, feel his heartbeat, talk in whispered tones about any random topic, listen to his voice, take in the scent and warmth of his skin.

And so she said nothing as he returned to her bed, climbing in beneath the sheets, wrapping his arms about her and gathering her flush to him. Instinctively, her hand went to his chest, over his heart, feeling the strong, steady rhythm there.

"Ya got it thumpin' like a jackrabbit," he said, noticing where her attention had fallen, upon his rapidly beating but slowing with every thump, heart. He took her hand in his, raised it to his mouth and kissed the palm, making her shiver in pleasure, before he released it, to cup her face instead, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he stared into her with those damned intense eyes of his.

"That was..." Chris LaSalle seemed at a loss for the appropriate words, at first. "...somethin' else."

"Yes, it was," Merri agreed, cuddling into her lover, resting her head on his shoulder, falling asleep to the soothing caress of his hand upon her back. He somehow smelled like nutmeg with undertones of bourbon, like a well-made, fully savored glass of eggnog.

'_Yum' _was her last thought as she drifted off to sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: So, normally I hate when characters use endearments in fanfiction, because most of the time it's entirely out of character, but with LaSalle, it feels very right that he'd call the woman he's making love to 'beautiful', 'darlin'' or any other number of random-ass endearments.  
><strong>


	8. Candy Canes

**Author's Note: A brief note on why Brody seems so OOC in this fic, because yes, there is actual reasoning behind it. In the canon, she is very cool and collected, even enigmatic at times, doling out only brief hints about her past. My interpretation of the character is that she's a mess on the inside, based upon the tidbits we're given such as a failed engagement and the whole 'Moultrie incident', as well as her quirks, and the slightly control-freak aspects to her, which actually denote a person possessing internal chaos. And in this fic, I have her mother being the reason why she's messed up, emotionally vulnerable but always trying to distance herself, not let it show. Also, probably doesn't help her that LaSalle is wheedling his way around her barriers. Obviously, since I felt the need to explain this to you, I've still got some work to do on my writing skills, because I should be able to 'show' you through my narrative, rather than have to tell you. **

**WARNING: CONTAINS SCENES OF MATURE SUBJECT MATTER (I honestly tried to make this a sweet 'morning after' scene, but Brody and LaSalle couldn't keep it PG…)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: Candy Canes<strong>

It would be a bold faced lie to say that Meredith Brody had never before experienced a bizarre 'morning after.' She'd had her wild college days like any strictly brought-up young woman. But no awakening had ever been as strange as this one.

The weirdness was primarily originating from the fact that the room was extremely well known to her, rather than completely unfamiliar. She knew very well the bright pink bedspread and coordinating curtains, the sticker-covered dresser, the expressions of the five young men staring at her from across the room, for it had been a 13 year old Merri who had put up that poster of _New Kids on the Block_. And it felt very wrong to be in that young girl's bed, naked with the 35 year old Agent Brody's partner.

Her parents had left her old bedroom the way she herself had left it upon departing for college some 17 years earlier, despite her objections that they could use the additional room during their busy seasons and begging them to remake the time capsule into something more generic, classic and comfortable, like the other rooms, one of which the man currently lying out like a light with his face buried between her breasts was supposed to be currently residing in.

God, but he was a _clinger_, which seemed odd at first, but only at first. Because outwardly, Chris LaSalle was all confident badassery, but he was also a terribly flirtatious, soft-hearted people lover. He adored people, was energized by them, needed them in that classic extroverted way.

He'd been a very attentive,(mostly) gentle lover... the first time. The second round had seemed to double in intensity and exuberance, with their hesitation and uncertainty eliminated by their previous intimacy. She'd had to stifle her climactic scream with a purple zebra print throw pillow only a teenage girl from the '90s could love.

Afterward, she'd considered sending him back to the guest room for the sake of propriety, but his eagerness to cuddle (and aptitude for a good snuggle) had proven far more persuasive. And so here she was lying in her childhood bedroom with a bare ass LaSalle wrapped about her, one of his hands burrowed beneath her lower back, cupping her bottom, the other resting flat on her stomach, his warm breath damp on the skin of her sternum as his head lay pillowed by one breast.

Perhaps sensing his partner was awake, he stirred with a pleased groan, nuzzling the sensitive skin of her chest. And then, before she quite knew what had happened, he'd shifted position to take her right nipple into his mouth working it deftly with his tongue. Her hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging in as a jolt of pleasure coursed straight through the core of her. Chris nipped at her, forcing a yelp from her throat. And then he was hovering above her, looking down into her face with his dark blue eyes, grinning facetiously.

"Well, you're quick to rise," she said, referring to both his snapping wide awake in a matter of seconds and the interested part of him poking her in the thigh.

He chuckled.

"I have good reason."

He leaned in for a kiss, somehow tasting of peppermint. She giggled like a fricken school girl.

"What?" He gave her a puzzled look.

"You taste like a candy cane," she said. He grinned that broad, boyish grin of his, the one that crinkled the skin on his temples. He would have laugh lines when he was older. And they'd be as sexy as hell.

"I needed a li'l midnight snack," he said. "Otherwise I wouldn't 've had the energy to keep up with ya."

Then he kissed her again. And it was _nice_, lengthy, not too rousing, but not languid either. It said 'we've got plenty of time and the chemistry for a slow burn.' Only one other man had kissed her like that. And the memory unfortunately spoiled her enjoyment of her naked and aroused, and just plain _delicious_ partner. Because that was another problem. Chris LaSalle was her NCIS partner, not just her friend and lover.

"I cheated on my fiancé," she blurted out, causing him to cease kissing her neck to stare at her with bemused shock, which she fully returned. She was good at putting up a false front, keeping her inner thoughts and secrets contained. But apparently, not with _him_. With Chris LaSalle, she'd lost the ability to maintain her walls, and everything just came pouring out.

"With a fellow agent." Now that she'd begun, she just couldn't seem to stop, god help her. "That's why I applied to be an agent afloat and then there was that whole thing. And when I was assigned to Chicago, he was there, too, but I thought it would be okay. I thought we could work together, but... I make mistakes, Chris. Big ones. And this was probably another one. Even though it was really, and I mean _really_ nice, and I like you a lot, more than anyone else I've ever met. You're fun and sweet and great in bed, but you don't want to get involved with this mess, not that I think sleeping together one time means we're in a relationship or any-"

"Breathe, Brody." His expression was that of one desperately marshalling his amusement. "I like ya a whole helluva lot, but I'm not sayin' we have to fall in love, get married and make babies. I just wanna spend some time with ya... if that's what ya want."

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you," she said, forcing the words past the knot in her throat. "You should just stay away from me altogether, Chris. I don't mean to do it, but I hurt people. I'm a bad person."

She felt the tears threaten and fought them like her life depended on it, not wanting to cry in front of the only friend she currently had. So, of course, he cupped her face gently with one hand and spoke soft, kind words to her.

"You ain't bad people, Meredith Brody. You're one of my favorite people."

Merri did not handle being comforted well. The tears spilled over and down her cheek. She moved her hand to wipe them away, but LaSalle beat her to it, swiping his thumb over her raw skin. The digit was calloused, a little rough, and his touch absolutely perfect.

"You alright?" he asked.

She sniffled. "Yeah. I just -_ugh_- Why am I being such a girl?"

This made him laugh.

"You _are_ a girl," he said, adding with a buck of his hips that pressed his hardness against her most sensitive spot, "Or do I need to prove it to ya again?"

When she recovered from the jolt of pleasure that shot through her, she smiled warmly up at him. Chris LaSalle's flirtatious manner _was_ rather infectious. Oh, she really did like him. He'd shown concern for her but hadn't even flinched at her tears, had tried to cheer her up, distract her from her depressing thoughts.

"I'm sorry for being an emotional mess on you," she said. "I hate when I get like this, how weak I am."

He frowned at the pronouncement, shifted so that his weight was resting on his elbows and took her face in both hands, staring into her eyes with his. They were a blue so dark they were practically the midnight sky.

"Having emotions doesn't make you weak, Merri. It makes you human."

He held her gaze with his intense one for several long seconds before saying "An' I wouldn't have ya any other way" and kissing her soundly on the mouth.

They made out for a few minutes without a word passing between them. Just kisses and caresses that compounded in intensity until their bodies were rubbing and grinding against one another in desperate need for the ultimate physical closeness they could achieve.

"You were going to prove to me that I'm a girl, if I remember correctly?" she said, somewhat breathlessly.

"Mm...yeah." His hand reached down between their rather tightly pressed bodies, caressing her sex and then sliding a calloused finger inside. He teased her awhile, making her whimper and squirm until she was desperate for more of him. And the second finger he pushed inside just wasn't going to suffice although it stretched her deliciously.

"No," she managed to gasp as he began to move his fingers, stroking her from the inside. His hand stilled and she opened her eyes to find him studying her intently. "I want _you_ inside of me. Not just your fingers."

He gave her a mischievous look.

"Condom?" he asked.

Oh, shit.

"We used my emergency one last night." She gave him a hopeful look. He looked suddenly grim.

"Mine, too," he said. Then he grinned impishly. "Guess we'll just hafta make do without the whole parade."

He then proceeded to make his way down her torso with his mouth, stopping for lengthy visits at her throat, breasts, navel and the inside of her thighs before finally setting his tongue upon her sensitive and swollen flesh.

By the time he surfaced to make her taste herself on his lips with a lingering kiss, she was breathless, her head buzzing and her body thrumming pleasantly.

"Probably should get back to my own room, huh?" he asked, showing no sign of leaving her bed. Instead, he studied her face, smirking smugly. Oh, he was damned proud of himself for the orgasm still tingling in her nerve endings.

"In this state?" she asked, feeling his interest large and firm against her belly.

"We don't have anythin' to keep ya from gettin' up the spout, if ya recall."

"I'm not a one-trick pony," she said, reaching down and closing her fingers around his warm, swollen length. It was her turn to grin impishly as she proceeded to slowly stroke him.

"Oh, dear lord baby jesus."

Climaxing along with him had been an amazing, almost transcendental experience, but Merri was finding this sort of one-sided sex act quite enjoyable. She studied him as she worked his stiff member, noted how the muscles in his arms, shoulders and buttocks twitched when her fingers elicited an especially pleasurable response, varying the strength of her grip upon him, the speed and depth of the strokes. It didn't take long before his arms gave way and he collapsed half on top of her, his face buried in her neck, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other grabbing her breast and kneading it.

"That's it, Mere. Grip me tighter. So tight, just like your tasty little..."

He was very vocal, encouraging her caresses as she pumped him with more and more intensity. Last night, the first time, he'd done precisely the same, 'smooth-talking' her, easing her anxiety over the novel intimacy with his random solicitations, which had distracted her from the nervousness she'd felt despite how badly she'd wanted him. The second time, there'd been too much physical exertion and panting for exchanging words.

Now he was getting close, she could tell by his ragged breathing, and the increasingly loud moans emanating from deep in his throat, as well as his twitching hips.

"Shh!" She stopped suddenly, afraid that his cries of pleasure were becoming audible to more than just the occupants of the small room.

"Fuck, Mere." Chris half-groaned, half-whined. "Don't stop, beautiful. Please, don't stop."

"Keep it quiet," she whispered, and then finished him with a final few strokes. And he _didn't _shout as he came, thrusting into her hand, and spilling his release onto her naked thigh. Instead he bit down on her shoulder, stifling his outcry there and making her yelp in shock. She hit him in the arm, scolding, "Ow! What'd you do that for?"

He made an incoherent noise, sort of a growling moan, part ecstasy, part bewilderment.

"You told me to be quiet."

"I know," she said. "I meant for you to utilize some self-control, not give me a love bite."

He nipped at her shoulder with his teeth again. Oh, as Chris himself would put it, _it was on like Donkey Kong_. She'd discovered some very interesting information last night, and she was not above using it. She slipped her hands around to his sides and began to tickle the man, who started to laugh uncontrollably, until wriggling about, he begged for her to stop.

She ignored him.

He grabbed her hands, wrestled them to pin above her head, shifting his position to straddle her waist, trapping her, leaning down to nip at her throat and breasts. The gentle bites were small bursts of sensation, not quite pleasure and not quite pain. They made her skin tingle, driving her mad.

"Okay. Stop. I give," she said, laughing as he chuckled in pleasure. Then they both froze as there was a rap on the closed door (and locked, _please_ let her have remembered to lock it).

/Hey kids, if you're done playing around, breakfast is ready./

Merri felt as if the world had stopped dead in its tracks, her mortification was so severe. They'd been caught. Caught by her parents. She could never face them again. She couldn't go sit down to eat breakfast with them, pretending that they didn't know precisely what she and Chris had been doing not ten minutes earlier. Besides, she needed to shower. And so did he. They reeked of sex, a heady, musky odor of mingled sweat and lust. What the hell was she going to do?

"We could just stay in bed." Chris flung an arm out towards the nightstand, bringing back a handful of the mini peppermint candies he had apparently scrounged up for a snack when she'd been passed out cold between romps late last night.

"Candy Canes are not considered part of a complete breakfast," she said, unable to resist the ever-flirtatious nature of her partner, and feeling some of the debilitating embarrassment dwindle in the presence of his perpetually easy-going, optimistic nature.

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><p><strong>AN: And that does it for me for about a week. Check back around the 28****th**** or 29****th**** for a new update (if I do have the time to write during my vacation...). Happy Holidays!  
><strong>


	9. Naughty or Nice List Part 1

**Author's Note: Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! I got a little bit of writing done, but not as much as I wanted. Also, I hit a point where the style of this fic wanted to take a turn… hope it's not too random, compared to the somewhat (at least I tried) cohesive/self-contained chapters previously. But with the characterizations I've established there needed to be a catalyst for plot… Otherwise, the conclusion to this fic would've been exceedingly difficult to write/force.**

**CHAPTER RATING: 'T' FOR REFERENCES TO MATURE SUBJECT MATTER/INNUENDO. NOTHING AT ALL EXPLICIT.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: Naughty or Nice List Pt. 1<strong>

"You should take a trip to the store later, Merri," her mother said absently, as she stabbed a piece of cantaloupe.

"Do you have a list?" Meredith asked, not remembering that 'picking up groceries' was on her itinerary of chores, and finding it odd that her mother would've waited until the day before to buy the food for Christmas dinner.

"No. We've got everything we need to see us through the holiday," Evelyn Brody said. She chewed the piece of cantaloupe, a slow torture for Merri whose unease was only growing. She studied her partner-friend-lover out of the corner of her eye. The man appeared unaffected, focused on clearing his breakfast plate in an enthusiastic yet mannered process. Finally, the older woman swallowed, and said, "But if all you're using are those condoms in the back of your nightstand, that's probably a mistake. They're at least a decade old."

Her mother stabbed another piece of melon and put it in her mouth, as calmly as if she'd just informed Merri that her old sweater was looking a little pilly, and she should probably get a new one.

Color washed over Meredith's face like a red tide blooming across an ocean shore. Mortified, she looked to her father, who was studiously reading the newspaper, immune to the insane turn of breakfast conversation. Thankfully. Chris had paused in his determined consumption of his pile of scrambled eggs, and was staring intently at Merri, his expression unreadable. Being the stranger to the situation (although he should be familiar enough with the Brody Family dynamics after two days), he was likely looking to her for direction. Was this normal? Did she need him to step in?

"Then again," her mother continued, turning her condescending demeanor upon the man seated beside her daughter. "Merri doesn't have many child bearing years left."

Meredith tensed, her molars grinding painfully together as she clenched her jaw impossibly tight. This conversation had come up more and more frequently over the past five years, as soon as she'd hit 30 with no grandchild in her mother's sight. After... after she'd broken up with Mark... there was an edge of resentment to the prodding. But she'd learned to bear it, as part of the biannual visitation to her parents'. Dragging Chris into it, however, was unacceptable, and rude.

Only, Merri had never figured out how to counter her mother. Never. The woman didn't listen. She had a one-track mind. And she was _always right_. Merri had no retort. The anger only increased the pressure within the small knot in her chest where she kept it contained. It might just implode and kill her.

And then she felt something solid and warm on her knee. Chris LaSalle had reached under the table and placed a gentling hand on her. And she felt the fury, the kind of fury only someone who knows you so well can fuel, dissipate. It might have been silly, but she found the small gesture of his inexplicably comforting.

Her mother, however, was as oblivious as she'd always been to her own daughter's feelings, and pressed on with her oppressive tirade.

"You should knock her up," she concluded. "I'd like some grandbabies. And you seem like a solid young man. Healthy. Responsible. Not that you'd have to marry her. I Like you, Christopher. I really do. But Merri has a tendency to scare off the good ones. All I ask is if you could try to give me a grandchild first."

The hand squeezed her knee. And she wasn't sure if it was to ground her or Chris himself. But boy, did he know how to keep a civil tongue, for he spoke in as even and genial a manner as he ever used... _to her mother_, who could make a saint fly off in a bitter rage.

"I believe when... or _if_ Mere has a baby is _entirely_ her decision, Mrs. Brody," he said, holding her mother's stony gaze. "As her family and friends, we oughta be supportin' _her_ decisions."

Merri placed her hand on top of his that rested upon her knee, squeezing gently when he turned it palm up to take hers.

"And besides, your amazin' daughter can do better than a slob like me." He gave Merri an affectionate look. "That's for _damn_ sure."

Well, this was an absolute first. Evelyn Brody sat there with her eyes wide and mouth ajar for three whole seconds, utterly flustered at being openly contradicted by someone she thought had been on her 'side', before closing her mouth and turning her attention back to the remaining fruit on her plate.

A rustle of paper drew Merri's attention to across the table where her father was peeking over the newspaper at his properly (albeit it civilly) admonished wife. Oh, her father could give as good as he got, Merri well knew, but never before noon. Perhaps the fact was related to his notion that it was unseemly to start drinking before 12pm. Whatever the reason for his reluctant tongue in the morning, Merri was generally on her own during the breakfast hours. But not today...

She glanced back at Chris who had resumed eating his eggs as if nothing untoward had occurred, his hand still gently holding hers beneath the table.

The sex had been amazing, but this intimacy and emotional support (that she was a little ashamed to admit she needed) was an unexpected bonus. Chris LaSalle was indeed a good friend to have.

...

"So... Can I buy my way off your mama's shit list with some sort of fancy gift?"

Merri laughed. What else could she do? The whole situation was ridiculous, although it had been difficult at first to see the humor in it when it was her life, her mother, her... _friend_. But forcing herself to gain some distance, approach it with an outside perspective... it was so cliché it was almost painful to watch.

"Nope. Now you'll only make it off her 'naughty list' if you prove your character, and agree with everything she says."

They bumped casually against one another as they walked through the bustling mall. Invading each other's personal space was obviously no longer an issue and they gravitated naturally towards the other's presence, not engaging in anything as blatantly intimate as holding hands, but possessing a comfortable closeness nonetheless.

"It would be a terrible sacrifice on my part," Chris said. "But I suppose I could see my way to givin' it the good ol' college try at knockin' ya up."

She slapped him in the arm.

"Don't even joke about that!" It was a paranoia that she never seemed able to completely banish when she was sexually active, no matter how careful her and her partner were. Three weeks out of the month she'd be absolutely certain she was pregnant, even knowing how extremely improbable it was. The control freak in her would have her be entirely celibate if it wasn't out-voiced by her libido (and her attraction to this particular man).

"Nothing is 100% effective, and if you ever want to touch me again, you'd better not remind me of that."

"Whoa now, Mere." His hand slipped across her lower back, around her waist, and taking her arm with his other hand, he stopped her, turning her to face him, and before she could protest, kissed her full on the mouth. Loathful of such public displays of affection, she resisted at first, but quickly found herself unable to maintain her angry refusal to participate. The man was a fucking amazing kisser.

"I'm just playin'," he said after the kiss ended, making her feel guilty for snapping at him. Her temper was inexcusably high. "You can't take your mama too seriously, or you'll give yourself an ulcer, Mere."

She nodded, knowing his words were true, but unable to do anything to eliminate the stress the domineering Evelyn Brody gave her only daughter. Giving her a sympathetic smile, Chris released her from his arms, taking her hand instead as he began to lead her through the mall once more. She frowned at the abrupt termination of their intimate moment, until she realized several people had stopped to gawk at the couple who had paused for an embrace, interrupting the flow of traffic that had to part and flow around them as they'd kissed.

After a few minutes in contented silence, they mutually derived lame excuses and split up, agreeing to meet up later to go for some lunch. Merri had an idea of a little something she wanted to get for Chris, but it still took her most of the hour to settle on the specific item. She smiled to herself as she made her way back to their designated meeting place, beside the huge fake Christmas tree complete with scaled up 'Christmas presents' in the central court of the mall.

Honestly, Merri wasn't really one for malls. She did enjoy a good old market street with bistros and shops full of local color, but a giant complex filled with chain stores wasn't really all that pleasant. But even so, everyone seemed to be in good spirits, not as harried or hurried as one would expect for Christmas Eve, and even the piped in music echoing off the high domed ceiling and down the cement and tile halls was cheerful rather than annoying. Then again, one couldn't go wrong with some Bing Crosby, now could they?

_Silver Bells_, one of her favorites. Oh, speaking of, her phone went off again, the ring tone no longer hidden by the accompaniment of the song. She pulled it from her pocket, hitting the 'accept call' automatically, assuming it would be Chris with an update on his tardiness.

/Merri?/

It wasn't LaSalle. It was her mom. She would've sighed but for the little quaver in the way the woman said her name. It represented an uncharacteristic uncertainty that immediately raised the hairs on the back of Merri's neck.

"What is it, mom?"

/It's dad, honey./

Her heart stopped beating in her chest. No. No. No. No.

/He's in the hospital./

Thank god. So he was alive.

"What happened, is he going to-"

/They think he'll be fine. He collapsed while shoveling off the roof for that old biddy, Mrs. Partridge. Just a mild heart attack. But they want to keep him for observation./

"I'll be right over, mom."

/Merri, you don't have to-/

"Yes, of course I do."

She ended the call, a little abruptly, but any longer on the phone, hearing the genuine worry and hurt in her mother's voice... Merri herself was on the verge of tears. Her brain had seemed to temporarily stop functioning along with her heart skipping several beats, but now it was in overdrive, trying to process the shock, and dredging up a thousand 'what if' scenarios and worries. She was already halfway to the exit when she remembered that she hadn't been in the shopping center alone.

Her cell was still in her hand, and it took her only a couple seconds to scroll through her contacts and call 'LaSalle, C.'

/Sorry I'm runnin' a little behind./

Hearing his thick Alabamian drawl simultaneously eased her worry and pushed the tears a little closer to the surface. Why was she such an emotional wreck lately? Couldn't she just keep it together? She'd been doing fine for months, ignoring the perpetual guilt, insecurities and mild social anxieties. But now, coming home, being picked at by her mother, comforted by her partner-turned-friend-turned-lover...

"That's not why I called."

Could he hear the knot in her throat, straining her voice?

/What's wrong, Mere?/

Yup. He could.

/Where are ya?/

"The entrance closest to the lot where we parked."

Maybe she should've told him. At least informed him that she was okay, so he didn't kill himself getting to her. Well, physically okay, anyway. And emotionally, too. It wasn't all that bad. Her dad was fine, after all. Well, not completely fine, but it wasn't that big of a deal. A myocardial infarction. That's all. People suffered minor heart attacks every day, many without any lasting damage whatsoever. It was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

He wouldn't be permanently incapacitated, or, or... Her mother wouldn't be left alone to manage the B&B, something she couldn't do on her own, despite, or well, _because_ of her control-freak nature. Her control freak nature that she self-medicated with alcohol. One of the many reasons that Merri had never given her mother a hard time about her alcohol abuse. As she grew older, her own mind settling into his genetically predisposed nature, Merri had begun to understand what it was like to live in a head so busy with undesired thoughts, primarily anxieties that she sometimes would give anything to make the noise stop. And yet, she could never live with the woman, never take care of her when she hit her inevitable decline. Merri had never considered it before, had still held that childhood belief... No, not belief. It was a fact, one never questioned or even examined, that her father would always be there. _Always_.

Even when the troubled couple had been so entrenched in their petty, decades-old arguments, refusing to speak to one another in pure recalcitrance, using their daughter as a go-between, placing her directly in the middle... even during the sometimes weeks long stretches of tense silence, the thought had never even entered Merri's head that her parents might actually separate, divorce or otherwise. It wasn't in their stubborn natures. And they needed one another, in some strange and twisted emotionally dependent and simultaneously independent way, they were as bonded as two persons could ever be.

What would her mother do without Robert Brody to eat her meals and compliment her cooking, to cut off her alcohol when she'd had just a little too much, tuck her up in bed, set out her aspirin and water, to listen to her complaints about the day, and smile in genuine amusement over her joys? To fight with her when she was being obstinate, to call her on her mistakes, to ground her, to counter her insanity?

Merri could never do those things for her mother. Not even if she wanted to, for the woman would never allow her to even try.

Oh, god. Oh, god, oh god, oh god.

Merri halted mid-step, realizing she'd been pacing beside the glass doors, possibly muttering to herself like a crazy person. Hell, she _was_ sort of a crazy person at the moment.

She forced herself to stand with back to the wall, close her eyes and take deep, calming breaths. She brought the last crossword puzzle she'd been working to her mind's eye, pondered several of the clues, successfully distracting herself until a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, her name voiced in a questioning tone.

Rather than grabbing the wrist of the hand that had touched her and twisting the arm up behind its owner's back, Merri reined in the instinctive response with the relief she felt over the familiar presence, opening her eyes to find Chris LaSalle's worried blue eyes examining her.

"Are you okay?" He stroked her cheek with a touch so delicate it felt as if a snowflake had lighted on her skin.

"No."

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><p><strong>AN: I was struggling with putting some tropey plot/angst development in here, but ultimately decided it was necessary. Because maybe with her neatly organized world thrown off-kilter, Evelyn Brody might actually be able to realize she can't control her daughter… maybe… **

**A/N 2: You guys have given me a lot of great trope suggestions to use, and I'm very sorry/sad that I haven't been able to work them all in! **


	10. Naughty or Nice List Part 2

**Author's Note: Yes, I'm still working on this one! I think a few more chapters oughta do it.**

**CHAPTER RATING: 'HARD T' FOR BORDERLINE SMUT. NOTHING EXPLICIT.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10: Naughty or Nice List Pt.2<strong>

The corner of Chris' mouth twitched into a smirk that Merri could now identify as the precursor to his full blown, mischievous lopsided grin. But it did not manifest, rather the muscles in his face returned to their relaxed state once more as he slept. She herself had passed dead out into a heavy dreamless sleep after the eternally long day, which had started with the most awkward breakfast ever, continued with a shopping trip cut short by alarming news, visiting her father in the hospital and then finally tackling her mother's 'to do' list in her parents' stead upon returning home. The list had only been 13 items long, including last minute cleaning and much of the food prep for the following day. A modest list of chores, as far as her mother was concerned. But still, the emotional drain had been probably even more exhausting than the physical activity.

Several hours later, she found herself quite awake, still a little unnerved, but much less worried and calmer than earlier in the day. Her dad was doing fine, seemed in good spirits, with just an edge of irritation over being hospitalized. Her mother was staying overnight. They had not spent a single night without the other in over 30 years. And with Merri and Chris' insistence that the chores would get done, Evelyn Brody, in a surprisingly docile mood turned over the responsibility for getting the house ready for the guests arriving the next day. Granted, it was only family, since they refused to book paying guests during the holiday. _Christmas was for family_.

And friends...

Merri continued to watch Chris sleep, wondering what he dreamt about, tentatively reaching out a hand to run her fingers tenderly over his chest and stomach, then lightly caressing his face, making his lips twitch once more in a faint smile. Finally, she settled her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath, considering the strong muscle that was somehow simultaneously so vulnerable, and terrifyingly vital to a person's life.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, turning his face towards her, and smiling fully now, returning her caress by cupping her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes." She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

And then he was sitting up, sliding off her bed. What was he-

"I'll take the couch," Chris said, picking his bag off from the floor. They had moved him into Merri's room after that morning's painful breakfast, to free up space for Aunt Cordelia, who had changed her Christmas plans after having a fight with her own daughter... Apparently, sheer stubbornness ran in her mother's family. But, as for the most compassionate person she'd probably ever met...

"Why?" she asked, pushing herself up off her bed to face him.

Why was he making the offer to crash in the living room for the night? Had she finally pushed him to the limit of his patience? Had she been too crazy? Too emotional? Too snappish? Too clingy and needy? Did he no longer want to be in her company because this whole ordeal revealed how very high maintenance any sort of relationship, even just friendship, with her would be?

"I thought ya might wanna be alone tonight," he said.

"Alone?" God, that was the last thing she wanted.

"Yeah, so you wouldn't feel pressured to, ya know..." Chris rubbed the back of his neck. He was being beyond sweet, but obviously made uncomfortable by the slightly awkward situation. "...do anythin' with me.

"I mean I wouldn't 'spect ya to. I'd like to just hold ya, but only if ya want."

"I'd like that." Merri stepped in close, wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and whispered in his ear. "I want to feel you wrapped around me, _inside _of me."

She wondered if he understood. Or if he thought she was simply being eager to please him, or having an adverse reaction to the heart aches and worries of the day. Perhaps, it was in part to the scare of possibly loosing her father, that she really needed the comfort Chris seemed so easily to bestow upon her. His touch thrilled and exhilarated her, but it also sapped the stress from her, eased her stupid anxieties. When she was with him, especially when they'd been making love, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them.

And whether it was appropriate or not, Merri needed to forget the world and its troubles, just for a little while.

He pulled back, cupped her face in his hands and studied her with that unreadable, damnable scrutinizing gaze of his.

"Are ya sure?"

She didn't look away. She didn't even blink. She held his gaze and answered that she was, because she _wanted _him, wanted him to see how much she _needed _him to stay with her that night, to not let her lie awake and alone with a thousand anxious, dark thoughts. Because it wasn't a night to give in to vicious depression. It was a night to celebrate. Her father had a little bit of a scare, but he was _alive_. And it was Christmas Eve.

"Just..." She gave him a mischievous smile. "Just wait here a minute. I've got a surprise for you."

He raised an eyebrow, but his lips curled in an anticipatory grin.

"I'll be right back."

She gave him a quick peck on the lips, and headed for the bathroom, picking up the shopping bag she'd stashed in the broom closet along the way. The hot shower she took felt _so_ good, the tension melting from her muscles and the grime washed away beneath the gloriously strong water pressure. Her legs weren't bad, but she took the time to shave them anyway. Most of the time, self-maintenance felt like a chore, which was in part why she kept her hair so short these days, but every once in a while, it was a pleasurable indulgence, made her feel feminine and confident. She put on body lotion, enjoying the vanilla scent of it, and the cursory massage it required to be rubbed into her skin, before she brushed her teeth and dressed for bed.

When she returned to her room, she found Chris LaSalle lying on her bed once more, with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. Had he fallen asleep waiting for her? It was rather late, the alarm clock beside her bed reading 12:17am. And it'd been a long, exhausting sort of day. Just when, a little disappointed, she'd resigned herself to climbing into bed beside him to curl up to his warm body and try to get some more sleep herself, he cracked an eye at her, which subsequently sprung wide open, joined by its dark blue fellow, as he swung his legs over the edge of her bed to sit upright.

Her lips twitched as she fought a smile. Oh, she had his _full_ attention in the skimpy little silk robe that barely covered her ass, the hem tickling her upper thighs.

"Since it's after midnight, it's not cheating if you want to open your present."

He licked his lips as his eyes did the complete wander up and down her freshly scrubbed form, landing as they always seemed to do (which was extremely gentlemanly of him, to say the least) upon her face. A brief self-conscious doubt flashed through her mind over the fact that she hadn't put on any make-up, even her light day-to-day stuff after her shower. But the man was staring at her just as appreciatively as ever. And seemed to be able to read her mind.

"I can see your freckles," he said, as she stepped in close. Okay, so maybe she should have- "I like 'em."

He reached up and stroked his thumb across one cheek, over the bridge of her nose to the other.

"I like the ones on your nose."

His hand traveled lower, stroking down her throat and the v of skin left exposed by the robe.

"An' I like the ones on your chest."

He grabbed her hips, his hands sliding downward and then back up under the hem of the silky robe, slipping around to cup the bare portions of her backside.

"An' I _love_ the ones on your ass."

"Oh, really?" She laughed. God, love him. Was there anything in the world he could find fault with? Well, besides apparently with himself, and with the worst sort of criminals.

"I have a confession ta make," he said, reaching for the ties knotted at the front of her robe. "I've not only peeked at my gift, but I've also already played with it."

Merri shook her head over her partner's sense of humor. But hell, she couldn't resist herself.

"Well, then. I guess that makes you a _naughty _boy." She caught his hands with hers. "And I had better just return it."

"Mm-mm. No way." He opened the robe wide, making an appreciative, low whistle as he examined the red lace teddy that hugged her body tightly and stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin.

"That's lovely," he said. "It'll be a damned shame to take it off ya."

Merri took his hand, guided it between her thighs, the calloused warmth of his fingers against her exposed flesh making the skin along her spine turn to goose bumps.

"We can leave it on, if you like."

He grinned broadly. "Oh, I like."

...

Sometime later, Merri lay panting and spent on top of her partner's chest, basking in the warm, happy afterglow of their joint climax.

"Oh, we're definitely making Santa's naughty list," Chris said, laughing as he stroked her back.

She chuckled lightly, having to agree with that sentiment. Some lingering Catholic guilt (although she hadn't stepped foot in a church in over a decade) affirmed the sinful feel of having sexual relations with a man not your husband on the night Baby Jesus was born. But those were all societal and cultural constructs. God -at least after you eliminated all of the various religious dogma- seemed to be about _love_. And she did love Chris LaSalle. Not quite in the way a woman loves her husband or significant other, but in a way that made him one of the most important things in her life, that made her want to protect him, and make sure he was happy.

And judging by the pleased sounds he was still making as he continued to, well, _pet_ her, she had made him very happy. At least, temporarily. Not that the man wasn't a happy-go-lucky sort of guy at any rate. To be honest, she was likely getting more out of developing a closer relationship than he was. They both seemed to be enjoying the sex, so that was to mutual benefit. But she was also getting the sort of emotional support she'd never sought or thought she could ever receive. If he needed it, she would try to do the same, be there for him, but Merri had a feeling she would never be as good at comforting him as he was her.

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to contain the swell of gratitude.

"What are ya thankin' me for?" he asked, humor edging his voice. "I haven't even given ya your Christmas gift yet." His tone turned even more facetious. "Unless givin' it ta ya but _good_, if I do say so myself, is enough to satisfy ya?"

She pinched the naked skin of his chest making him cry out and then laugh.

"You're just hunting for compliments," she said. "And I'm not going to stroke your ego." She shifted position so she could look down into his face, his dark blue eyes. "But you being here with me, all the help and support you've given me... You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I think I do, darlin'," he said, staring back into her eyes, caressing her face. "I wasn't looking forward to what was promisin' ta be a very lonely Christmas. Thank you for makin' it a Merri one."

She pinched him again for the cheesy pun, but laughed anyway. He kissed her, long and slow and sweet.

"Merry Christmas," he said, before she finally rolled off from him to curl up to his side. Closing her eyes, feeling content and... _yawn_- sleepy.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered.

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><p><strong>AN: How's the Brody Family Christmas going to go? Will LaSalle and Brody survive? Can he help her patch her relationship with her mother? And what does this Christmas 'fling' mean for the agents' future relationship?**


	11. Gingerbread

**Author's Note: Yup. This might have hit a trope that someone suggested. I can't remember who, and apologize for my laziness (because I'm not reading back through all of the wonderful reviews… because that might give me a fat head!).**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Gingerbread<strong>

It wasn't just a gingerbread house. It was a gingerbread _castle_. It had towers and turrets. A draw-bridge. A princess made of gum drops leaning out from the balcony. Her gum drop knight coming to her rescue, as the great gingerbread dragon attacked.

Apparently, he was a dragon sent by the evil witch who disliked the gum drop princess because of her pet unicorn...

"Unicorn?" LaSalle asked of the little girl who'd been narrating the story of their epic confection.

"Yes," Merri's cousin's daughter Susie said in that tone of voice that only children seem capable of when talking to especially dense adults about facts that were _obvious_. "A unicorn."

"My bad. Of course Princess Thumbelina has a unicorn." Chris took some toothpicks and gum drops, and constructed said unicorn, something that Merri found quite impressive, but having witnessed the entire construction of the gingerbread palace, the six year old seemed to care little but to play with the end result when it was presented to her.

Merri had known her partner had a soft spot for children, volunteering at the hospital like he did, but she had never connected that little factoid with the idea that the man would actually be really, really good with the rascals, especially the hellions her family tended to produce. But he'd kept them occupied almost since the moment the first two had arrived. They'd imprinted on him, claimed him as their own personal source of entertainment, likely would need to be pried away from the man who'd they'd been literally hanging on to (jumping on him, wrapping their tiny arms around his neck and legs, hugging him, begging for his attention) for a good six hours now.

To be honest, Merri was a little jealous. Okay, more than a little jealous. She had gotten used to being the center of the man's attention over the past few days. And she was missing the feel of his hand placed casually on her shoulder, glancing around to find his intense blue eyes upon her, catching the scent of him when he was close by, hearing him drawl her name... Visiting with her aunts, uncles and cousins was all well and good. She lived so far away from them that there was a lot of catching up to do this one time of year when they were together, even with the pseudo-closeness of social media connecting them. But she had finally found an opening to excuse herself from the bustle of the kitchen, and made her way about the house until she'd located his voice and homed in on it like a beacon. But instead of interrupting, she simply observed, a smile pulling at her lips, and then decided to make a quiet exit, and leave Chris LaSalle to his gingerbread fairytales.

"Can I help ya with somethin', Mere?"

She turned around and gave him a great big smile. Susie was currently sitting in his lap, but leaning out so far flying her gumdrop unicorn that he had to hold onto her small waist to prevent the little girl from falling on her face. Meanwhile, Tyler's gingerbread dragon was attacking Chris' ear in earnest, and the twins were chasing each other around the table, squealing loudly. There was a pleading look in those dark blue eyes as the man stared across the room at her.

"No," she said, suppressing a laugh. "I think we've got everything under control in the kitchen."

And then she did laugh over the completely desperate expression he gave her, as if he were hanging by his fingertips on the edge of a sheer cliff. She threw him a rope.

"But I know of something else that could use your attention."

He practically jumped to his feet, setting the little girl on the chair and pushing her up to the table so she could continue her play. He only hesitated when he reached the archway leading to the hall.

"They alright to leave to their own devices?" He seemed equally concerned for the little terrors and about one more child's scream from walking back to New Orleans.

"Someone will hear them scream if they get into too much trouble." Merri took his hand. "Come on. You need a break."

"I thought ya said there was somethin' that needed my attention," he said when with a quick glance to make sure they'd made a clean getaway, she pulled him into her room, and shut the door behind them.

"Yes," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Me."

She kissed him, a soft affectionate sort of embrace, trying not to let arousal creep up on her, since there was nothing they could do about that at the moment. And all she really needed to satisfy her was being close to him. And oh, god, when did this happen?

When the embrace broke, he was smiling that ridiculously charming smile of his, his eyes flashing merrily as he looked at her. So it really wasn't all that difficult to see why she'd become so attached to him so quickly. She'd let her guard down, and Chris LaSalle was an easy man to like.

"Was that all the attention ya needed?" he asked, his tone of voice indicating that he could be persuaded into much more.

"Hmm... for now," she replied. "But I thought maybe you'd like a break from the crazy that is my family."

"No offense, but I was gettin' a little worn down," he said, still grinning. "Those are some intense kids. I think I know what kind of terror ya must have been."

"_Been_? So you don't think I'm a terror now?"

He shook his head, chuckled. "Ya ain't catchin' me in that trap. I refuse ta comment."

"Smart man."

She stepped back, yawned and stretched theatrically, plopped down on the edge of her narrow bed.

"I think I'm due for a nap," she said. "Care to join me?"

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Whodathunkit. Agent Meredith Brody wants a cuddle."

He made a 'scootch over' motion with his hand, and she shimmied to the far side to make room for him, trying to prevent her giddy grin from showing. Despite her previous confession of appreciation for all of his support, his friendship, well, just _him_, Merri's instinctive reaction was to keep her emotions to herself. She knew it was because of the way she was raised, the environment that had created her, had indelibly imprinted on her personality the need for isolation.

Chris didn't seem to mind. He had the patience of a goddamn saint, that one. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush to his chest, nuzzling the back of her neck as he spooned her, making a pleased quasi-purring noise in his chest and throat.

She hadn't been like this with anyone for a good, long while, to the degree where such blissful openness seemed not just a faded memory but an outright dream.

"How do we go back?" she whispered, more to herself than to the man who was holding her in the most delightful of embraces.

"Well, we drive the rental back to the airport in a couple days and then we take a flight back to New Orleans," he said, rubbing her stomach in slow, soothing circles.

"That's not what I meant."

He squeezed her tighter.

"I know." Feather light kisses teased her bare neck. "I don't wanna go back to just bein' partners. I told ya I wanna be your friend, Merri. And I meant it. Still mean it."

"But how can we continue to work together and... _sleep together_?" He must have heard her voice crack, the strain that the lump of emotion was putting on her vocal chords, the stupid tears that threatened to choke her. It was silly. She was so stupid. Why was she so stupid as to... it was too quick, happened too fast. But she didn't want to let go of it, of him.

"If it's what we want, we'll find a way." He released her, gently coaxing her to turn to face him and then took her in his arms again. "You can't stress about life, Mere. It happens, and we just have to make the best of it, cherish the good things when they come along."

"How are you so insufferably zen?" she asked, undeniably a little angered and jealous of his ability to just 'roll with it.' He shrugged. They stared at one another, the tension rising between them. Neither of them would say it. They both knew better. If it was spoken aloud, her instinct for emotional self-preservation would kick in, and she would run for the hills, and break his heart. But it was there, in the depths of his twilight blue eyes as they held hers, reflecting back her own soul. She was falling in love with him. And he, with her.

It was shocking to her system, to her carefully guarded low self-esteem. She'd always buffered herself with confidence so that no one could get to her vulnerable core, and potentially damage it. Or worse, and far more likely, she damage them.

"I can't believe that you'd want to have a relationship with me," she said in quiet awe of the expression of affection lighting his entire face. "I already told you I destroy things."

"I have patience," he said, smiling his intoxicating slow smile. "I build things for children. Sometimes they get damaged or broken. Sometimes they ask me to build them the same thing a hundred times just so they can smash it to pieces. An' ya know what?"

She frowned. "What?"

"I always do. Just because it makes them happy." He kissed her, an embrace landing somewhere on the spectrum between chaste affection and desperate desire. "An' I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself."

Normally, she would accuse him of fishing for compliments, but the man had a point. So instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck, whispered, "I know. I saw your gingerbread house."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I think I like snuggly Brody and LaSalle almost better than smutty Brody and LaSalle.**


	12. Silent Night

**Author's Note: I think that this is it for this fic. It was a fun one to write, and thank you for all the feedback!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12: Silent Night<strong>

_Hmm... _Pure heaven. For this alone, Meredith Brody would consider marrying the man. Not that she would, or could, or really wanted to, in any reasonable sense. But reason had little to do with the way he was currently making her feel.

"Oh, please don't stop." His hands had stilled and she wasn't too proud to beg.

Chris LaSalle chuckled from where he stood behind her, but his fingers began to move once more. They were gently resting on the sides of her neck, and his thumbs, oh-god-yes, were stroking the back of her neck in just the _right_ spot with just the _right _amount of pressure to work the tension out of her aching muscles. Closing her eyes, she groaned in relief and pleasure.

"That feels wonderful."

His hands stopped their ministrations once more, again to her disappointment, until she felt a light kiss tickle the bare skin just below her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Everyone's gone ta bed," he whispered. "Why don't ya change into your comfy clothes, an' I'll make some hot cocoa."

"Something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Now who's the one fishin' for compliments?" he asked with a wide grin as she forced herself to get out of the chair. In all honesty, she was a little uncomfortable, despite the excellent neck massage. That didn't prevent her from remaining still for a moment as his eyes did the full wander down her body and back up.

"That is a very nice dress," he said. Merri did rather like it. There wasn't anything risqué about it, but the fit was so perfect that it didn't just flatter her figure. It showed it off. "An' I like that color on ya."

It was red. It matched the little stud earrings he had given her as a Christmas present, proving how observant he was, that a perpetual bachelor such as himself had noticed she favored red blouses when she did wear color, and the only jewelry she tended to don were stud earrings.

"You could help me take it off..." she suggested, running her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders as she stepped in close.

"As much as I love -and let me stress the point. _love_- that idea," he said. "I don't think we'd be doin' ourselves any favors, exhausted as we are."

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but he did have a point. As soon as she was horizontal, she'd probably pass dead out. But they'd already proven several times that weren't the strictly _horizontal _type of lovers. Of course, she definitely didn't have the energy to be on top right now. It was a lot of work, even with Chris' eager assistance. Or standing and the like… She sighed, half in disappointment, half in relief.

"Yeah. You're right," she said. "But hot cocoa does sound good."

She left him with a chaste peck on the lips to change into her camisole, flannel bottoms, and fleece top. A snuggle with Chris on the sofa in front of the fire sounded really nice.

That was not what she found to be awaiting her when she returned, passing through the living room with the wonderful fire, into the kitchen. Her mother was sat in the breakfast nook with a steaming mug of what Merri deduced was hot chocolate, judging by the man pouring another mugful from the saucepan.

Merri waited for him to look up, catching his eyes with a questioning glance. His expression made everything apparent. This was his doing. He must've noticed how she'd been outright avoiding her mother since her parents had returned from the hospital. Her father seemed to be doing fine, actually_ great _for someone who'd just suffered a minor heart attack. It was comforting that he wanted to immediately return to all of his old activities, even as it was alarming, and slightly annoying to have to prevent him from doing so. The presence of the family, the disruption to the normal routine that the holiday provided was enough of a distraction not to make it too difficult to dissuade her father from making his rounds to plow the driveways and shovel out the walkways at the handful of properties they rented. They usually called someone in to do the snow maintenance during this time of year, anyway.

But while she tended to her father with unusual care, which might've been borderline coddling, until he shooed her away, Merri utterly neglected her mother. It wasn't necessarily out of malice, although she had to admit to holding a little anger in her feelings towards the woman who'd birthed her, raised her, screwed her up emotionally. Merri just couldn't handle what she knew would be a barrage of criticism, of her mother's anxieties turning into commands and pressures placed on her daughter's shoulders.

She didn't want to face her mother's fears, about being left alone to manage a life she'd shared with her husband for nearly forty years. She didn't want to face her own, about her aging parents, about how she'd run away from them, been running away from them all her life, the guilt that she'd abandoned them.

Merri abruptly turned on her heel and headed for her room, ignoring the familiar footsteps behind her, until a hand grabbed her bicep and jerked her to a halt.

She glared at the man who presumed to know her better than herself. What did he know, anyway? He'd only been in her family's company for a handful of days, only intimate with her for what... two days? Three days? God, it felt so much longer... but not in a bad way, in a _comfortable_, I've-known-you-all-my-life sort of way.

He hastily removed his hand.

"Ya need ta talk with her, Mere," he said, pinning her soul down with his intense blue eyes, so that it could not run away and hide like she'd been about to do. "For both of your sakes, ya need to figure things out."

"What?" Merri reacted defensively, even though the fight wasn't in her. "So she can complain, and passive-aggressively accuse me of abandoning her and Dad, of being the terrible child she always knew I'd be?"

"No." A frown creased the attractive features of his face.

"So what, you know her better than I do, Chris? You think because she's put on a show of being kind to you that she would never say hurtful things to me?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders, ran his thumb along her neck, and goddamn him, it was as soothing as he obviously meant it to be. She prided herself in her independence and ability to detach herself from situations, maintain a stoic facade, but Chris LaSalle had learned how to not only read her, but push her buttons as needed.

"I think she's feelin' afraid an' alone," he said, his tone as gentling as his hands, as if she were a spooked horse and not a woman with a lifetime's worth of emotionally baggage. "I think ya are, too."

She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head to the side so that she could rub her cheek against the back of his hand.

"Not so lonely," she said quietly, resigned to do what her partner was pushing her to do, to try to make amends with her mother. She took his hands in hers, and kissed them, making a shocked expression flit across his face over the uncharacteristically submissive gesture. "Go to bed. I'll be in, in a little while."

He nodded at her, somewhat smugly for getting his way, kissed her chastely, but not hastily, so that she had time to enjoy the warmth of his lips pressed against hers, before he said 'g'night' and retired to her room, leaving Merri to face her shrew of a mother alone.

…

"Mmm..."

The moan persisted for nearly half a minute, and it was not a smidge exaggeration. She couldn't remember feeling a relief so profound since her waitressing days in college, finally pulling off her shoes and putting her feet up after an ten hour shift. That easing of pressure that was so profound it was almost more ache than pleasure. That's what climbing into bed beside the warm body of her partner after an intensely emotional and serious conversation spanning two hours, after a very long day, and an exhaustingly busy weekend, felt like.

The body she thought placid with sleep, stirred, and Chris LaSalle rolled over to face her, his arms wrapping around her and sending her even further into bliss. She nuzzled into the hollow at the base of his throat, making ridiculously pleased whimpers in the back of her throat.

"I take it ya resolved some of the issues with your mama?" he asked, sounding sleepy but interested.

"Yeah." She stifled a yawn. "Not sure how long it will last before she falls into her old pattern, but she did apologize for all of the undue pressures she's placed on me. She claimed she never realized..."

Chris snorted. And Merri had to agree with the incredulous reaction.

"I didn't argue that point."

"Applying your interrogator's patience to your mama, now?"

"Finally." Merri was proud of the fact that she'd been able to keep her cool, not let all of the anger born of years of resentment bubble over and spill out. She'd actually listened to her mother's worries, understood the woman a little better.

"Maybe it's because we were too exhausted to work up to one of our epic battles, or even argue for that matter," she said, feeling sleep begin to settle upon her like a heavy snowfall blanketing the woods. "Maybe it's because of the scare with dad..." She kissed his bare chest. "Maybe it's because of you... But I kept my cool."

Her mother's fears had only been the usual of a parent for their child, especially when the realization hit that they would not always be around, be there if their offspring needed them... And it was ungrateful for Merri to think that they hadn't ever been there for her. For they had, in their reserved, manipulative way. Only, turning to them had always been the very last thing she wanted to do. She'd successfully avoided if for most of her life. But soon they would need her. Or she would truly be alone, without family. Hence the pressure for her to 'settle down.' And so she'd told her mother about her life, about the friends -the family- she'd found in her fellow agents in New Orleans, and knowing Chris as she now did, her mother seemed relieved by this. It had surprised Merri somewhat to discover the woman did actually care, even _worry_ about her half-estranged daughter.

"We're good now," Merri whispered as sleep closed in even tighter. "We promised to actually tell each other what's going on when we talk."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mere." He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into him. "Family is important."

"I may have promised that we'd move in here, take care of them when they were too decrepit to run the B&B anymore."

She felt the rumble of his laugh in his chest.

"What?" she asked, slightly offended. "Don't think I could do it?"

"No. I don't doubt ya could do anythin' ya put your mind ta, darlin'. You'd have it runnin' like clockwork. The question is whether the rest of us could ever keep up with ya."

For some strange reason, the fact that he was talking like a hypothetical possibility for their future several decades from the moment that had them curled up in bed together was a genuine possibility… it filled her with a giddy warmth.

"You'd really want to do that with me?" she asked, trying not sound embarrassingly eager for his answer. "Take this place over?"

"Might be fun, when we get sick of chasin' down bad guys." he said. "But I'll go anywhere ya wanna go, Meredith Brody. I'd probably follow ya to Hell, just because as long as I was with ya, it would feel like heaven."

"I love you, too, Christopher LaSalle," she murmured, no longer able to fight the pull of sleep, smiling as she heard him return the sentiment, felt herself held snugly in his arms, his lips pressing kisses to her face, and her eyelids.

"God, how I love you, Merri."

END

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><p><strong>AN: I opted to skip the scene between Brody and her mother, because 1) This fic is about Chris and Merri and 2) She would just rehash it again with Chris, anyway.**

**A/N2: Again, thank you for all the feedback for this one! I hope the ending was satisfying enough… sort of sets them on the path to a serious relationship… Too soon for the 'I love you' to be busted out… probably, but the fluffiness of this fic required it for the conclusion.**


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